There was a farmer.

Straight across the road.

I never met or got close to him.

But he always wore his red button down.

His yellow hat was brighter than the sun.

He dedicated countless hours to his farm.

His milky white and lemon yellow flowers gave hope.

His lapis blue flowers feel like a clear sky

The brown gate was welcoming.

2 years later, I never saw him again, farm in fabulous shape.

Everything is brutally outgrown, still has its looks

The gate barely held on, still giving signs of welcome.

A new cross sits behind the gate, shiny, reflected from the gleaming sun.

Could he be gone?

It seemed as if he was still there, his cross showed.

The gates open, to show off his work.

Even if he is here or not, I remember him.

By just going through the open gate.