Gardens

Quiet moments bloom,

In spaces left between days,

Where nothing asks to be defined,

And time forgets its measured ways.

A longing glance, or softened word,

Warmth that lingers just a while.

These fleeting things we leave behind,

Take root beyond our mile.

We are the sum of unseen threads,

Echos cast we cannot trace.

Of light that travels through the dark,

To find, at last, another place.

If life has taught me anything,

To love is just to be.

And we’re all planting seeds in gardens,

We’ll never get to see.

The wind will carry what we’ve sown,

To soil not stood upon.

And strangers who speak not our names,

Will feel the shade when we are gone.

But in the hush of distant years,

When memory turns to air.

A trace of us will still remain,

In kindness unaware.

So let us move with gentle hands,

Unburdened by acclaim,

For beauty lives in quiet acts,

And never speaks our name.