Against Time

I always plant carefully and tend my garden well
Pray, Jim, and keep hoeing
How will my simple garden grow
Nothing even close
To an Elizabethan round
Or an 18th-century maze
Regardless, in the end
No matter the planning and care
Theirs and mine in passing
All come to nothing
In the end Nature wins
Corroding watering cans
Rusting tools
Those gloves that fray away
Weeds, glorious, lethal weeds
What is there more tumultuous
For all that will remain
Ever the perennial winner
Is overwhelming overgrowth
And all our labor’s lost
Against time