Wilted by Her Own Grace

The gardener of broken things

Likes to work all day

She isn’t one for simple things

Like compliments and play

She wants to get to know your soul

And water it while she does

She’ll leave it better than she found it

Truly just because

She likes to watch the flowers bloom

That’s why her garden is so lush

But when the flowers inevitably grow away

Her tears to the world she’ll hush

“I only need to watch them sprout,

No need to see them bloom”

This is the little lie she tells herself

Soon leading her to doom

Dedicating so much of her life to others

She had neglected herself long ago

Enduring so many years without watering

She had dried and withered like a rose scarecrow

The gardener of broken things

Now can’t plant anymore

Her heart is far too broken

And her hands are much too sore

Now she lays in her empty garden

Sprawled out, mangled and betrayed

“Now who will water me?” She cries

“To restore my soul’s bouquet?”