Our gardeners

I wonder how unconditional is our parent's love. This poem is dedicated to all parents, "our gardeners"

I have met this gardener
and he was watering these plants
All these past years
he kept watering them all
And i may ask to him
 for whom shall these grow?
He kept gazing into my eyes
And I didn't understand his silence

These plants did grow into trees
And the gardener did grow old
He died on a Tuesday
and i sat under these trees waiting
For someone who could water them all

And as i sat there waiting
a fruit did fall into my lap
it was sweeter than i ever imagined
 then at that moment i had the answers for his silence
And now,  I am the keeper i am the gardener