The fickle gardener

You planted in my heart a flower garden,
Vibrant and intense
with every beat the sweetest, most enticing scent
diffused and circulated through my blood.

Until one day, with skin still hot from love,
you looked at me and said it was the last time.
The last time that we would be together,
and with these words, you reached into my heart's garden
and pulled out each
perfect bloom by the root.
Leaving just clotted earth and stone, a lifeless pit

Even fields that are left fallow do not remain bare earth for long
and I betrayed you, by living on.
In time my heart's parched beds began to yield small plants
some sharp and bitter chickweed, thistles too
and blade upon blade of grass, life's fillers, no beauties, yet alive.
Only the foolish think weeds ugly, sharp or sour,
strength is their beauty, and time brings out their blooms

Where once were luscious shrubs, now subtle flecks of colour
speckle the strong and hardy crops
of my heart's garden, left wild it is far more beautiful
than when cultivated by a talented but fickle hand.

Olivia Harris