Gardener

These tangled roots of mine have met
     Their share of toxic soil
And found the briered bush to be

     An equal match for toil.
Greater still’s the daily task
     Of growing, living, thriving;
For neutral growth - of such there’s none -
     A pause would but mean dying.
And so I grow - but not alone:
     A Gard’ner great have I:
Who night and day tends to His plants
     His caring Hands e’er nigh!


- J. P. Antonios