Uprooted (Poetry)

I can only guess how much he must have missed it —
his patch — his small green kingdom where he reigned
the sun upon his back, the earth’s mute promise
then exile so entire the day it came

No garden he could rule to fit the seasons
no ground to break — no need to dig or sow
no plants to pot or stake, no beans to water
no careful use of spade or rake or hoe

Over thirty years of nurturing and giving
and receiving satisfaction from the soil
one heart attack and she insisted leaving
relinquish all — and save himself the toil

From house to flat in a small modern tower
a comfy cell that viewed a busy road
traffic sounds that drowned a dream of birdsong
and nodding afternoons — the TV loud

I can only guess what sadness he kept hidden
the lawns he mowed so tidy in his sleep
he never was a man to voice his feelings
torn roots remain forever buried deep