The Gardeners seed

Saint-Ligoue Street

This was the idea born to me
Sometime, somewhere, August or May
The streams of thoughts come to me
The ones I may not all, say

I met a gardener down the road,
Gracefully adorned with a hat on a pinafore
Smiling, he sat on a wood log spreadagled
And I thought I met him somewhere before

Upon his face was a mix of different men
Hewn out of a stress of thousands of times
A thicket of nerve upon the facial line
And to a moustache burnt by strange climes

On his shaky hands he held a pitchfork
Letting his strength drain down the pole
“You see these hands, them work’d on the docks!”
He began as he beckoned me to a seat of wool

“I have seen the warlds greatest seeds
And the warlds best of weathers…”
He broke into a small laugh and grunted
“O yea, I have seen the Earth and her barders”

I sat down to think of it,
My mind telling me to relax into this
And listen to the fellows wit
Once I heard myself hiss

“Tell me sire, about the little growing seed”
I finally let my curiosity get the better of me
He looked at me, shrugged and loudly laughed
I smiled, though the reason for that I could not see

“Naw sit tight” he began after a deep breath
“The sammer times I go to the Seasides
Where the sun goes dawn to the Earths belt
And the walk on the sands of the shores mild

The birds; seagulls, pelicans and storks
Bathered the tranquility of the queer scenery
I faund myself, a tedious sun tanning wark
The turtles glide about the beach lazily

But I cared little less for the stray animals,
Drawing pictures on the wet sand I found a seed
Which I became fand of, and around it I made a stick wall
And all marnings I wake to attend to the weed

The warm nights grew to days
And days begat other nights
So my little seed came to wake!”
He nodded, shielding his eyes from the sunlight

“You see the golden sun over there son?
She woke all day to tan myself and the seed
For she took the seed as her own son,
Provided us with all the warmth we need

The seed grew not just for planting it
But for the love sown into every soil it lay
The beetles and weeds came to attack it
But I would let none of those spoil her

All about the soil I greatly kept,
And so is the seed of life and loving”
He smiled warmly, and allowed me feel it
“Only the seeds know the joy of growing”

By Oke Iroegbu

Finance Graduate, Bibliophile and Bard of Ovim, his homeland. Read more at

2 replies on “The Gardeners seed”

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