I’m glad for what I had,
bones must be tender within hands
to appreciate touch,
bones must be tender within hands
to appreciate touch,
to look back, in the garden
at childhood, picnics in the grass
at the river with a bend,
all never ending.
One needs belief,
a settled gait
a glance of respect
at what one once was.
And all one will be,
to look back at the garden
with tender hands.