[setting: a seemingly overgrown garden]
She kneels, stooped over the majestic greenery,
sweat building upon her brow.
She doesn’t take the time to wipe it off.
This garden needs tending urgently.
Was that a healthy leaf?
Was that really a weed?
The sun, beating down with its overwhelming heat and light,
doesn’t give her the opportunity to reflect.
She must keep going.
She must do so much.
She must be good.
She does not finish, just reaches a stopping point.
First standing then turning quickly, she scurries away from the garden,
not able to evaluate what damage she has done
or what more she has to do.
It’s probably too late to make a difference now anyway.