My Prized Reward

I do, you know, plant them, after all.
Using my aesthetic to determine
which plants would complement
one another. Imagining maturity,
spread, natural consanguinity,
colours and shades, formation - all
to visualize with a degree of accuracy
the final bouquet that will piquantly
present in our finished garden.

Full potential achieved, we then
satiate our appetite to view the
luscious beauty of their multi-petalled
exuberances, their obvious delight in
themselves nestled within the confines
of a garden bed, or border, or a
garden urn of classical design, or a
rude clay pot with no pretensions of
rivalling in beauteous, bountiful
appeal the flowers they so host.

A sour-minded cynic might remind
the gardener that after all, it is nature
to whom the kudos are owed, place
into perspective one's self-congratulatory
bragging of that special eye, the hours
devoted, the dedicated, pleasurable
retreat. I decline, however, to retire pride,
rendering all credit to the cultivated
plants, the season's opportunities,
ample sun and gentle rain.

Yet the tilling of the soil, its composting
enrichment, the storing overwinter of
corms and bulbs, heeding spring's
forgiving temperatures for seed
germination, careful and tender
planting, the nurturance to supplement
moisture, defend from insect and mould
infestations amply represent my investment.
The mature garden my prized reward.