The Whimsical Garden

I honour an unspoken agreement
with my garden wherein I have agreed
not to impose strict order, beyond a
slight nod to tidyness. Otherwise, the
garden grows and prospers as it will.
In exchange I am permitted the fond
conceit that as the purported gardener
my desultory ministrations are
responsible for its lush green
sumptuousness; the courtesy most
plants extend restraining impulsive
traits trespassing on neighbours' spaces.
My reward for minimal intervention
is the delight I take in surveying the
sweet harmony between trees and
shrubs, vines and pots, perennials and 
annuals in their variety and raucous
colour. If arguments among them arise
they find their own solutions, for they
take earnest pride in their autonomy
as a confederation of cultivated
botanical specimens. And when
climax presentations are offered
I am the honoured guest, full of praise
for all I appraise from my windows
overlooking the garden world of
self-congratulatory accomplishment.