The Elderly Garden

I watched a couple the other day
Both in their 80s at least
She was scraping out a trench
In which to plant some seeds.

Her husband, old and bent as well
With trembling hands he took
One seed and then another
And dropped them in the earth.

His wife then came behind him
After chopping out some weeds
She shuffled down that well-worn path
And covered up the seeds.

They didn’t need to say a word
As the yearly ritual was done
For many years they’d completed this job
In the spring’s sweet glorious sun.

by Marilyn Lott

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