The Elderly Garden

I watched a couple the other day Both in their 80s at least She was scraping out a trench In which to plant some seeds. Her husband, old and bent as well With trembling hands he took One seed and then another And dropped them in the earth. His wife then came behind him After chopping out some weeds She shuffled down that well-worn path And covered up the seeds. They didn’t need to say a word As the yearly ritual was done For many years they’d completed this job In the spring’s sweet glorious sun.