Never Too Late

He grunted, jammed
his foot on the spade.
Eighty years old, he found
earth more solid than
it used to be. He sharpened
the spade, let the hose run
where he dug. His leg
trembled when he pushed
with all his might.
But he had a rosebush
to plant and come time
or tide he would have it
near the window where he
could watch it grow.
He told himself, it may be
a bit late to forgive me
my transgressions but it is
never too late to plant
a rosebush.