I watch the gardeners at work
And as they rake and mow
I wonder, when their workday ends,
About where they all go.
I doubt if they have homes with lawns
As lush as those they tend
Or flower beds like ones to which
Their talents they do lend.
It's possible the only place
Their spirits may be buoyed
By what they do is at the sites
To which they've been employed.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment