My Garden

We all must tend the garden of life
That flourishes in our hearts,
Weeding, Feeding, Reaping, Sowing
The flora therein by parts.

For each part the gardener decides
What its fate will be
To run rampant where the flower may choose
Or be carried off with the breeze.

To you I said, "Run rampant and free!"
Your roots spread and grew.
While the aroma wafted up, we heard
The breeze whisper, "I love you."