I come here to this place of beauty as often as I can.
By label, I would be "gardener".
Yet, I confess, she sculpts me more than I, her.
My soul is enriched by the scent of her landscape.
Enrapturing every moment spent within her blossoming borders.
With sharp tools, I work her surface.
Cold and metallic. Undeserving of her intimate features.
In truth, she knows best.
If I could give her to that wild nature she longs to express.
How fair she would be. Moreso than even I could shape her.
For what I do is destroy her longing to be set free.
I am called the master of her boarders.
Yet, I'd rather she be left to follow her own voracities.
For only I see what grows wild within her secret places.
Creativity, discernment, wisdom, and a quick wit,
being some of her most desirable annuals.
Yet, I am toilsome to remove these expressions.
Hardly because I desire to.
I fear that if others see her true nature.
I shall be labeled wanting in my duties towards her.
This by others who spend far less time among her petals.
Caring little for what she wishes herself to become.
So I pay my debt to social constructs.
I remove her wilds and plant unnatural efflorescence.
Deemed appropriate for a garden of such distinction.
Society wants of her conformity,
while creativity is to be managed rather than encouraged.
Dullness is worked along every path,
with discernment no longer in sight.
Even still, naivete and ignorance please the masses,
far more than her native wisdom and organic wit.
So for the sake of my own appearance.
I try to mould her into something she does not wish to be.
She gives of her nature freely,
but I prune it back at risk of her spirit overwhelming me.
All I yearn for is to let wild her truth.
To foster that which she longs to express.
Perhaps one day I will be less of a coward,
and nurture that which my garden gives of her own fashioning.
I take solace in knowing that despite my assaults and intrusions.
Her natural beauty always finds it's way back to the surface.
I destroy, and yet she rebuilds.
I pluck, and yet she yields.
I reshape, and yet she demands freeform.
Long after I am gone. She'll be here still.
Perhaps one day someone new will come along,
one to encourage that wild spirit she encompasses.
The reality is that I can never truly change her.
Yet she has forever changed me.
I give little and take in abundance.
Yet, she always has ever so much more to offer.
I come here to this place of beauty as often as I can.
A garden that will not be tamed by any man,
and that,
that is why I love her.
