Promises blossom ’round
the triumphal arch forged
by my working the steps.
Like a gardener, though,
I can’t enjoy them, forgetting
how precious they are.
Doubts, fears, and discontent
won’t remain banished
from worked and fertile ground —
like wild grass they lurk,
hoping to reclaim their domain.
Not while I’ve got the hoe,
never while I remain diligent
to care for the garden of promises.
