The Gardener

 

The gardener does not love to talk

He makes me keep the gravel walk;

And when he puts his tools away,

He locks the door and takes the key.

The Old Gardener

(1885)

Emile Claus

(1849-1924)

Belgian painter

Away behind the currant row

Where no one else but cook may go,

Far in the plots, I see him dig,

Old and serious, brown and big.

He digs the flowers green, red, and blue,

Nor wishes to be spoken to.

He digs the flowers and cuts the hay,

And never seems to want to play.

Silly gardener! summer goes,

And winter comes with pinching toes,

When in the garden bare and brown

You must lay your barrow down.

Well now, and while summer stays,

To profit by these garden days,

O how much wiser you would be

To play at Indian wars with me!

"The Gardener"
Robert Louis Stevenson
(1850-1894)
Scottish novelist, essayist, and poet