I've realized it can't be easy,
being a gardener who doesn't know where to start.

You don't know how to caress your flowers
in the sunlight,

you don't know how to let it rain
upon their petals.

You're more delicate than they are.

Your fingers shake and your                                                                                                                 heart aches all the time.

You wanted to bring beauty into the world
but you realized you didn't know what to do after that.

You don't know where to put your heart,
in the petals, in the grass, in the leaves?

You used to whisper to me, dad,
when the thunder scared me right out of my stem.

You used to hold me
when I hadn't blossomed just yet.

I understand now.

You planted a seed and made a flower,
but you could only be the father,

never the dad.