Next door dwells perfection,
gardens pert with flowery blooms
like vibrant little soldiers heeding
the command of love’s labour,
exuding confident pride.
My house, marked by overgrown
vines, chaos’ shameful exhibition,
bemoans the futility of planting,
knows they’ll be no follow through,
betrays the absence of love’s toil.
Life has schooled detachment,
lessons in loss counsel protection.
better to guard than invest; how
can they be so reckless, do they
not know that all is for naught?
(Image from Pinterest)