his knees creak in stooping
bones grind in their joints
mimicking his friend's arms
that groan overhead
in the lively April breeze
he remembers when the boughs
were mere whips when
he sank their roots into the earth
their size a reminder he
hasn't much longer to stay
on this side of the soil
sweaty brows sting in
the afternoon sun
as he toils on the green
blooms have come and gone
as the many winters
have stripped them away
yet some have overgrown
in his small dominion
some may call a backyard
loss is the constant
he has gained from
having his life so long
the dandelions and dog shit
keep him busy as
he toils on the green
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