My gardens do not flower;
its cold and snow still melts.
I walk that path that brings joy;
but plants don't look at me.
Old drying markers seen strewn;
as headstones where they're placed.
Sun and some rain should bring life;
Some gentle winds for new strength;
to assist in beauty.
My garden cemetery;
soon dressed in leafy greens.
Bowing to life and at me;
while walking passing by.