To Anita the Gardener

In summer when my life was cold, Frozen too weary for desire, I warmed my heart at your marigold, As at a fire.

It was the first flower from your new ground, The first gold largess from the care And loving, you had planted there, And in the walks around.

I stole your garden's coin to buy content, A vision of black earth dug deep for flowers. Through sunny self-forgetful hours. With joys, God meant.

In summer when my life was cold, Frozen too weary for desire, I warmed my heart at your marigold. As at a fire.