The gardener came to clear the moss,
Which had gathered under pots,
Beneath benches,
And along the side of walls,
On hands and knees,
He chiselled away,
Scrubbing with water,
Until that concrete gleamed
In the late afternoon sun.
The grass mowed,
Yellowed in the heat.
He sat down;
A short break,
Before returning
To the clearing,
Of the moss.

  

Love Mary and thank you ,Ian