Mother in Her Garden
Created | Updated Mar 14, 2005
Mother in Her Garden
You'll often find her at first light of day
Treading the well-worn path that curves and winds
Through her garden, not knowing what she’ll find,
Which buds have opened into bold display.
They nod and beckon as she walks their way.
She watches as they dance with stems entwined,
And splash their paint on canvasses unsigned.
She pauses to explore each bright bouquet,
While music all around her softly flows –
The music of a culture still unknown.
With verse no human poet could compose,
Not seen, yet sensed – their auras brightly shown.
Within her heart their love she does enclose,
As in her hands she holds a perfect rose.
You'll often find her at first light of day
Treading the well-worn path that curves and winds
Through her garden, not knowing what she’ll find,
Which buds have opened into bold display.
They nod and beckon as she walks their way.
She watches as they dance with stems entwined,
And splash their paint on canvasses unsigned.
She pauses to explore each bright bouquet,
While music all around her softly flows –
The music of a culture still unknown.
With verse no human poet could compose,
Not seen, yet sensed – their auras brightly shown.
Within her heart their love she does enclose,
As in her hands she holds a perfect rose.
