In spring,
Six tulips stretch to the sky.
Four to the left of the path
Two to the right.
Yellow with red
lines like flames.
They were planted five years ago.
My husband made the garden.
I never take care of it,
Letting it go wild.
Mint in the corner.
Pears in the south.
Apples in the center.
Violets in between.
And still the tulips
Stubbornly fight their way
To bloom every year.
As a constant reminder
of that patient gardener.