A Modest Request

A Modest Request

When I grow old and weary, 
legs all atremble,
unable to walk far, 

and my garden—

the delightful colors, 
the delicate shapes, 
the delicious scents,

when my garden— 

eyes weak and bleary,
too distant to see,

then please, 
if you will, 

bring my garden to me.

j