The Garden

                        

 

She laughs sometimes

As I look in her eyes                                                    

bright like sunlight 

I keep my disguise

Her garden produces

only on command

on my knee's I dig the dirt

with her hands

Tears fall

at our fingertips

my tears are hers 

she asked my for this

To deny her

that my name is not for sale

the love of her life

the flowers grow pale                                       

There in the garden

we sat without blame

any moment she will go

But i will remain

She once brought me hope

and she has left me with color

To know she grows flowers in her dreams

Leaves me with honor

 

 

 

Author's Note

This poem is about my relationship with my Mother. She was all knowing and an all powerful gardener. Yes, I said powerful. She also did the newspaper crossword puzzle with an ink pen. That always got me. What a show off. My mother loved to laugh and laughter is great medicine. The highs are high and the lows are unbelievable. The relationship with My Mother was always centered around her volatile relationships with men. But as a child, I remember what a green thumb she had.

Reviews

[Michael S]

I love the style of this write...This is really touching.
I think this is the second one I am reading on your mother...this shows how much you love and adore your mother..Great respect to you for that.
A heart warming tribute to your mother, Sheer Terror...you are Sheer Kind...
I am impressed :-)

[queenR]

wow.. this is really deep. i really love your writing. and i really hope to read alot from you

[Pete]

a beautiful, touching tribute. awesome thoughts about an awesome lady. her gift was gardening. she grew you - her most prized flower. hold onto these cherished memories forever. you should be proud.

[wordman]

a beautiful tribute to the one who nurtured you into life,and guided you to woman hood,and she still watches over you !