When I was first brought here,
There was some doubt that I’d survive.
Confined by Fate to this wheelchair;
barely half alive.

The accident that shattered me
had also brought a darkening mood.
Some kind soul had suggested
Nature’s embrace would do me good.

So now on every day, that’s’ clear
I sojourn here among the trees
Whose faithful stolid company
Is medicine to my disease.

I cannot climb or pick the fruit,
I’ve two dead legs and one good arm.
Instead, I sketch and paint from Life
until the morning light is gone.

We understand each other now.
I almost hear the arbor speak
They gift me with a purpose now
And lend me strength when I am weak.

With pen and paper, paint and ink
I learn a healthier way to live
And though I can no longer run,
I accept I still have much to give.