dotted with sparse areas of roses
and the seeping water on its roots
surrounded by evenly cut grass
does the gardener come hunched down

the weeds are coming up like a spartan army
ready to sink its deadly spears onto the rose,
to drain it of its life source does the gardener
act as a defending army against the hordes of weeds.

the sunlight makes the battle hard
for the old man struggles with the war
the weeds always catch up onto the old mans
agenda

the swirling of the soil as he uproots them
and wiping his forehead does he sigh
the fustration is showing and his anger is might
for the roses that stand tall and smell of heavenly perfume
stand defenceless without the protection of the old warrior

time has passed on the garden
the old warrier has lost
the weeds came back to reclaim
the patch of ground which now is
a shadow of its mere past