Tending

As a rose keep, I was an utter failure.

The bleating lambs called to me,

but I denied their need for fertile soil.

Tomorrow seemed soon enough

to prune dead growth and search

for black leaf. Let them frolic

in their own freedom, I thought,

leggy stems reaching to the sky.

Their thorns like cracked hooves

were such a bother, a rancorous

manifestation I took personally.

My heart wasn't right for it,

this shepherding that involved

soaker hoses, mulching roots.

Let the wolves come. I napped

peacefully beneath the oak.