I used to be a beautiful garden

I used to be a beautiful garden,

with flowers of all colors and kinds.

I wasn’t cautious with my precious flowers,

fallen ill or freely given, few were left behind.

Now I have scant flowers to boast,

and certainly none to spare.

Though they’re few, I comfort myself, 

by guarding them closely all hours I dare.

Only to find my flowers die in suffocation

and I may be altogether too late;

For, while a garden can grow again from seeds,

I can only sow from that which I create.

4.1.25