Their Garden And Their Home. Barry Pittard.12 October 2016. Poem by Barry Pittard

They were not bored as they worked their garden,
As they chatted, sang, laughed, worked hard in it

I said to my Dad:

"You and Mum garden together so well:
He said "Mum's the gardener, I'm the specialist help -
I'm the bloke she likes to consult
For hefting the manure and turning the mulch"
(Ah but Dad was modest)

I asked my Mum:

"Does passion for a garden ever decline"?
Her face glowed, she crooned, "Dear, not mine!
And when your Dad, at last, found his garden heart,
He beamed at me, said ‘we're companion plants'".

I thought to myself:

But would I have to don gloves
And wield secateurs
To know a love like his
And a love like hers?

Mum would say:

"We water, we feed, we mulch, we loam,
We tend our garden and we tend our home.
You children know that a heap of dirt
Is a heap of fun, not a pile of work

A good gardener will spot one plant that wilts,
And pour light and water until it fulfils
The image that hid when it was a seed,
Until it bursts into being, good-gardener freed

"If it's chill outside, and Winter howls,
Our garden breathes inside ourselves,
If the world is offside, we can love the earth"
(She meant a love like his and a love like hers)

But what was all this?
Was there something I'd missed
When I wandered from home? -
Far. Far...

Did I have to don gloves,
Wield secateurs,
To know a love like his
And a love like hers?
What was this -
Tend a garden, tend a home?
Must I haul, must I sift
Each barrowful of loam
Like this?
Must I? -
Must I dig, hoe
Tie saplings to sticks
To be more at home
In rain, in sun
In earth on my knees
In earth pressing seed
Spotting each weed
Welcoming bee, bird
To know a love like his
And a love like hers?

Oh they loved each other.
I remember their glow,
As they tended their garden
As they tended their home