Gary Witt - Seisin

There is dirt from this garden
Under my fingernails,
And in the cuffs of my trousers.
I alone prune the roses that loom
With thorny, threatening fragrance
Around my head;
I alone uproot the grass,
The bindweed and thistle;
Clearing dead branches from the olive tree;
Removing that which does not belong,
Adding promise to the possible.
So, if this garden is anything other than wild
I alone am responsible for its civility.

Do not tell me I cannot, that I do not,
Own this garden;
Or that I tend it for someone else
Whom I have never seen,
And possibly never will.
For though I often despise the effort,
Though I curse the ground
And the grantor in fee,
I know my claim to this garden.
This is the seisin that I have received:
It is under my fingernails;
I empty it every evening
From the cuffs of my trousers.

Gary Witt

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/seisin/