heaven's door
the gardener tends his soil, through sun and storm, through barren harvests, through gnawing pests, his neighbors think he's crazy, toiling for a dream unseen, his efforts seeming increasingly futile overtime.
yet he waters each plant with care, prunes the roses with tender hands, ignores the mocking stares, diminishing returns be damned, his heart, steadfast.
one evening, a knock at the door.
it's all been worthwhile.
- Ian Chan