The Gardener
Dear Mom, I’ve been
trying to write poetry,
And wond’ring where I
got my start
Thinking maybe I do have
an avenue here
For wringing things
out of my heart.
I’m sure you were
there the first time two words rhymed
saying “That was great
– lets try some more”
Making “Glittering, glittering
comes the snow”…
Feel like red carpet
strewn on the floor.
As I I’m thinking of
you as a mother
I see a sweet gard’ner
in plaid
Focused on each seed
she’d found or might find
In each of the
children she had.
I remember hours over
the piano
Or at least within
earshot of my violin.
Listening to
practice, especially on strings,
Couldn’t have been
where you’ld like to have been.
And yet you were
there for each lesson,
Each recital and
concert and game’
Every school play,
campaign or audition
You were ever there
fueling the flame.
So I pray as you look
on your garden
It reminds you of all
you do best.
In the rearing and
nurture of children,
No garden on earth’s
been more blessed.
With All My Love and
Admiration
Laura
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