He loves his flower bed with solitary care,
To tend with kindness the plants  still there,
Painstakingly watering when water is due,
He watches  the flowers burst forth so new.

The sun shines best in late  morning light,
The flowers bend over with breezes in sight,
He works all morning to cultivate the soil,
For him no work, no obligation or toil.

He pulls the weeds with a type of madness,
For weeds are ugly and bring the sadness,
But he will not allow time to come to convey,
Anything less than a purpose-filled day.

When all the watering is finally completed,
Upon his porch with ice tea and firmly seated,
Surveying his flowers, he notes this is why,
He can not let his lovely flowers begin to  die.