In A World They Never Made

“He’s here at least once a month.
And usually twice each month,”
Marta explained.
She was mentoring a new volunteer
At the garden on that day.
“He’s been doing this
For years.
No one knows why.”

Both of them were quiet
As they watched him.
Walking through the roses.
Taking pictures.

Sometimes he looked so happy.
A beautiful,
Big smile
On his face.
Those blue eyes of his
Shining with a light
All their own.

Sometimes he looked
About to cry.
And in such awful pain.
As if someone he trusted,
Someone he loved,
Had just stabbed him
In the heart.
With a big knife.
And then just twisted it.

But always,
When he left the garden.
And went to his car
To drive away
He was smiling.
And he seemed OK.

It seemed that everyone that worked
In the garden
Knew of him.
Knew he visited.
Knew he walked
Through the flowers.
And the trees.
Quite regularly.

He was always friendly.
Always smiled at everyone.
And waved.
Wishing everyone
A happy day.

He never walked with anyone.
Always visiting

You could tell
He loved the flowers.
And the trees.
You could tell
He loved the butterflies,
And grasshoppers,
The squirrels,
And the birds.

By the way he talked to them.
The way he stood,
And watched them.
Sometimes standing motionless
For minutes at a time.

As I watched him
Walking in the garden
Full of roses,
Marta continued on.

“We like to think
Part of why we’re here
Is for people just like him.
That because of us,
And what we do
To keep the garden beautiful.
To help the flowers grow.
That we help people
Just like him.
To find a way
To carry on.
In a world
They never made.”


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