In The Garden, With My Father

It is spring.
As in my garden, I stand.
In the garden –
My father is there;
… though long since gone…
He IS there.
I tend to the weeds,
The veggies and flowers…
He is there.

I never understood him
(as I should have, could have) …
Until now,
Here, in the garden.
Where I, like he, work the soil.
I’ve come just recently
(these last few years)
To enjoy and love my garden so.
– I am not as surprised afterall, as I would have thought,
To find him here.
Here, in the garden.
He loved his garden very much…….
I – at that early age of restless youth – had no use
For such slow moving things.

But now, I see, and myself move, at a much slower pace.
Therefore, it is him I am here and now able to see,
In the garden.
Watching it all grow, so peacefully.

It is somewhat sad, that now,
When I can no longer tell him,
I understand.
For I have come to find… I love the garden too,
Just as much as he;
And we both always will.
My father – standing in the garden –
I now know.
After all these long years.
And I’ve missed him so;
But, how wonderful to find,
He IS here…
In the garden, our garden,
Always, with me.