Flowers,
colours,
but winter is just grey,
cold,
wet,
even with snow,
they all create apparent ruin,
but not quite;
when spring comes all hidden treasures appear,
another display of life,
colour after colour,
but, oh dear, there is also work,
work of the real gardener,
the instant garden can only be money based,
the other relies on patience, understanding,
and the outcome of many thoughts and plans,
yes, there is a reward,
it is pleasing and ever-changing,
the cycle goes on,
from colour to colour,
to become again the winter grey,
time of rest and hope of a new beginning.