Japanese Garden

The mistress of the mini-masterpiece 
was fixed upon her purpose of renewal, 
her garden of Japan, her plot of peace, 
her precious gem set in a royal jewel. 
One day we saw her tending plants at Kew. 
‘We should remember this', I think I said. 
So there among the foxgloves and bamboo 
I drew her in acrylics on the shed 
and now she is a memory of you. 
She gardens on when all the flowers are dead. 
I see her toiling there the winter through. 
It's not a fertile spot but some flowers grow. 
She talks to them perhaps. Would it were so.

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