A time for sweeping

I have at last
swept away the leaves,
and laid them down to rest.

The garden now is tidy, and at peace,
bedded down for winter,
ready for its sleep, for slumber.

I too will now lie dormant
through the time the garden needs
for restoration and renewal.

In waiting, I will long for that revival, 
for the joy, the thrill, the sheer delight
of life returning, come the spring.

Of course, this longing will not last
beyond my years, but then I ask:
is it just for me, the sweeping?

Will life returning, come the spring,
be there beyond my years?
Or will our fears be cause for weeping?