LABOR OF LOVE

        He still tends her garden faithfully,
        Weeding at the first sign of spring;
        Wearing the frayed straw hat:
        the one he found
        years ago in the attic,
        remembering how she laughed
        when he wore it; 
        how she danced on chubby legs
        clapping small hands in delight;
        sunshine radiating from her.

        He meticulously prunes the rosebush
        he planted the day she was born.
        How he aches with each movement,
        but the pain is lessened
        as he relives her joy in life,
        and in flowers.

        Her laughter haunts his memory;
        tinkling like wind chimes in the breeze.
        Staring beyond the garden
        he half expects to see
        her running towards him,
        arms outstretched.
        He will not neglect her garden
        through the growing
        twilight of his years.