Shed Graphiti Poem by Roy Ballard

The mistress of the mini-masterpiece
was fixed upon her purpose of renewal,
her garden of Japan, her plot of peace,
her precious gem set in a royal jewel.
One day we saw her tending plants at Kew.
‘We should remember this', I think I said.
So there among the foxgloves and bamboo
I drew her in acrylics on the shed
and now she is a memory of you.
She gardens on when all the flowers are dead.
I see her toiling there the winter through.
It's not a fertile spot but some flowers grow.
She talks to them perhaps. Would it were so.