All is Fair in Love and Gardening

Go ahead: say what you’re thinking. The garden
looks terrible, horrible, like it had a good-for-nothing day,
or year, or decade.
I tried. I watered
the lilies. I trimmed
the bushes. I sprayed
the weeds diligently, religiously.
My plants died nonetheless.
Every flower wilted before it bloomed,
every tree hollow with pests,
every blade of grass colored like dust.

I wish I could blame someone
for the end of times. That would be easy,
that would give me a purpose. A nemesis
is what I need. Perhaps a monstrous mole
would suffice. A scheming creature with
bloody eyes,
a foaming mouth, and
a disposition for destruction.
I’d fight for my garden, I’d engage in epic battle
with the mythic creature. Odysseus, Perseus, Me!

But could this garden ever bloom
and by whom