Adelaide Eden Phillpotts
The Erring Gardener
Brooding in tramelled citadel,
Beneath the grating of his cell
In sunlit corner of the yard
Upthrusting through the concrete hard,
Where errant wind or bird a seed
Had dropped, he marked it spread—a weed
He used to grapple with and fight,
But now the sole green thing in sight;
And ardently he grew to care,
Beyond all sense, that it lived there;
Until he came to love the thing
He used to loathe, uproot and fling
On compost heap or bum—a plant
Coarse, stingful and recalcitrant—
But here the only plant unfurled
Upon a barren, plantless world.
And thus in prison, stony, drear,
That weed to his starved soul grew dear.
He watched its growth with hungry eyes,
Until one noon at exercise
A fellow victim kicked aside
And trampled on the nettle, till it died.
Page(s) 131
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