In the clearing stands the garden,
one made beautiful by you.
There is laurel, here is Holly,
and scents of lavender and rue.
In the center of the garden;
a rock that was your Poet's chair.
Sadly it is empty,
Paddy, you've been gone two years.
Your refuge and your metaphor
both in this secret bower.
Here you shared your wisdom
about Love's redemptive power.
This beauty were impossible
without your patient toil.
Your mind knew well which plants would
grow in this type of soil.
In your absence can your garden thrive
without the Gardener's care?
Perhaps within this place of peace
your shade yet lingers there?
Though we still grieve your passing
we mustn't seek you in the dust.
You are present in your flowers;
in your verse you bide with us