Master keys

 Masters Keys

John Clare Stokes 

He came upon the keys to the garden

Tucked long away in the tin box

Tarnished and dusty with the closed

lost locks 

In brittle leather pouches on soft brass

hooks hanging 

Once upon the hinges the gates swung wide 

the ole blue Ford tractor passing 

through the unlocked gate to unturned fields

Neatly hung in the shed the 

tools to abundant yields 

the little boy hoeing hard at the Gardeners side

And he would send the boy with the keys

the Gardener waiting patiently 

in the furrowed row

To the little one which keys he must know

his first prayers, “dear God, the Gardener

depends upon me!”

And with a sweet click and quick return

He ran with the right tool for the seed 

The Gardener pleased with the 

little boys deed

As wide eyed there was so much to learn

And so the keys to the garden are in his hands

the old Blue tractor waits for him to 

find the key 

But the gate is long gone along 

with even the property

The Gardener rests in the cool of eternity

I trust the Master understands.