Quiet Gardener
A Poem
O praise you, quiet gardener Who buries her seed And feeds it water each day You are foolish to the world Yet confound it all the same Your roots will rise to kiss you In the glory of the sun come May Your words, soft and tender Your knowledge wrinkles in your skin Your silver hair crowns you Rebuker of the snake-tongued friend



Love that middle stanza, Jon. I think a lot of necessary things are looked upon in such a way.