Friday, October 31, 2014

The Gardener

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


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