The Garden GateA Poem by Cherrie Palmera flower garden of mystery
The center of each bloom creams the palest of butter.
Springs tender buds sway.
Watch the skirted pedals flair dancing with the wind as shaded lavender are boldly displayed.
Beside this, lovely hydrangeas is a slender cerise grouping of tulips.
A garden gate was hung just there
with tulips on either side,
no fencing of any kind to mark the way
only the blooms of spring set its borders
and this pristinely painted swinging gate.
This simple gate housed two chairs also painted white.
A table was found on that piece of ground and an arched honeysuckle vine where a small brass wind chime sings.
Mint-julep must have been sipped by those whom once here sat, and on occasion with an eastern wind, I catch a faint hint of old-spice and mint. It is, those times, I stop my work and listen to the brass chime sing and without fail, the garden hinges will speak.
As I’ll see, that old gate begin to swing, I ponder the days that have long past.
© 2020 Cherrie PalmerFeatured Review
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13 Reviews Added on February 21, 2013 Last Updated on April 2, 2020 Previous Versions AuthorCherrie PalmerOakland, ARAboutI am a published poet and love poetry. I live near the White River, and love trout fishing. I find my surroundings a great inspiration to me. I also have two books on Amazon Kindle: Obsession Starts.. more..Writing
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