I used to have a garden,

It was my dearest friend.

I promised to tend to it,

Until the very end.

The outcome of the harvest;

Depended on my mood.

And, to be honest,

The results were quite mixed.

The fruit it bore weren't perfect,

But it couldn't be beat.

I honestly doubt you tried a strawberry

That was as sweet.

Yet as the years passed,

It grew less colorful;

The outcome of the harvest

depended on my mood.

One day, I went out into the world

green.

Not quite yet an old soul,

but kinda mean.

I didn't come home for holidays,

I didn't come home at all.

My mother sent pictures everyday,

To show me what my best friend looked like in the fall.

I never opened the packets,

Just piled them in a heap,

or stuffed them in my pockets.

I eventually mustered up the courage

To open up that package

And take a look at my foliage;

I had to open that package.

Every single plant was in the same condition;

Dead, but still there.

And after that observation,

I decided to go back there.

I now have a garden,

It is my dearest friend.

I promise to tend to it,

until the very end.