This poem by our Treasurer Phil Vernon was placed in fourth place in our 2018 members’ competition, and published in Folio #72.
You see your gardens in the space between
the plants, raze every weed without a trace
lest it disturb the balance of your scheme,
deadhead each stem before its flower fades,
lift every labelled bulb to plant again,
and prune your trees and shrubs as each dictates.
I grow my plants so close they all complain
they’ve insufficient room to breathe, or sun
to drench their leaves, or share of summer rain,
let young weeds grow to be what they become,
and poppy stems and seed heads twist and dry –
then rot, when frost and winter rainfall come.
I watched you tend your silence constantly,
then found a careless way to nurture mine:
we’ve made our different landscapes home, and still
we touch each other’s quiet awkwardly.
But looking now, when winter’s worked its spell
of levelling, our gardens seem as one.