Suzanne Edgar: ‘The Gardener’

The Gardener

He’s a tall man, lithe and long-limbed,
who gives himself eagerly, wholly,
to tending his back yard.
The grass is green and framed by gums.
No hard lines here, just the curves
of flower-beds, a huddle of shrubs,
a wooden fence overruled by vines
that flash their colours in Autumn.

To see his wheelbarrow take a bend
is enough to raise a cheer
but it’s never a matter of haste,
the work’s his way to enhance a day.
Fork and rake grow clots of mud
from digging loamy plots.
At their post, and following,
the brown eyes of magpies watch

for the luck of a turned worm
or swatted midge; skinks all slink away.
At the finish, clean your tools
and stow them away from rust,
the grandfather had taught,
leaning on his spade to catch a breath.
The gardener smiles, opens the shed
and wipes sweat with the back of a hand.

Suzanne Edgar