The Desk III - My Garden

I sit at my desk and look out through the window.
It is getting a little dusty.
Through the glass, I see the old garden I grew up with,
But the Anderson shelter is no longer at the end,
And there is another plastic greenhouse,
Rattling in the wind.
I think to myself,
If my life were a garden,
What would it be?
Would it have flowers,
And trees that blossomed,
Would it have leaves,
Left on the ground, forgotten?
Would it have an orange slide,
Or a broken swing?
Would it have a kite,
That would fly
Without string?