Garden

I'd love to spend time in Nimoy's garden
It sounds a lovely place
To sit and contemplate
To watch the flowers grow
And die and bloom again
Their fate
Is just like ours
We grow in endless cycles
And put down roots
We develop colours
And shapes unique to ourselves
And with muddied boots
Sometimes we are the gardener too
Weeding out those aspects
Of our lives
Which befit us no more
Planting new seedlings of relationships
With children and wives.
And we must respect the randomness
Of cross pollination
The diverse
Experiences and meetings
Unlooked for that spiderweb
Our egocentric universe.
For our fellow humans may annoy us
May buzz us just like the bees
But none of our gardens could exist
Without interactions such as these.