I love my garden.
I tend the plants as if they were my children,
lavishing love and care like the water I pour.
That day was hot; the plants wilted, thirsting.
I switched on the pump, bathed them
as I once bathed my kids.
They perked up, standing tall,
veins brimming with life.
But the sky darkened suddenly,
as if someone flicked off the light.
Heavy drops plummeted down.
The plants reveled in the downpour,
like a child splashing through puddles.
My hour’s toil? Washed away.
Disappointment settled; I turned to sleep.
