The Reason

Gardeners garden for a reason,
Not what you might think.
It’s not to show off what’s in season,
Vanished in a blink.

Of course, they want their plants admired
By all the passersby.
They’d welcome praises they’ve inspired
By how they beautify.

But that’s not why they work the soil;
Instead, what I deduce
Is that it’s worth their hours of toil
To see what they produce.

For they’re the ones who reap rewards
From flowers, bright and lush;
The harmony of nature’s chords
Provides them with a rush.

And if somebody’d compliment
The buds they’ve gently tended,
The kudos would not make a dent
In what had been intended.

The gardeners plant for themselves;
They’re happy, though, with sharing.
They want their flowers off the shelves
And flaunt them if they’re daring.

The writer has the same desire:
He writes for inner pleasure;
And if his writings do inspire,
He’ll gladly share his treasure.