A sonnet
He cleared his mother’s garden in
the fall,
the one he planted in her memory.
It was a special place for him, a
small
reminder of her thoughtfulness. At
three
o’clock he finally finished. All
the piles
of withered blossoms lay in heaps
beside
him, but he smiled because her
loving smiles
seemed right beside him too. She
had supplied
him with the love to last a
lifetime, and
the garden was his way of saying
thanks.
When spring arrives again, a fresh
new land
of flowers will arrive for her.
Whole banks
of blossoms will be flourishing in ways
a mother's love is given-- in bouquets.
Wonderful poem! What a tribute to a mother.
ReplyDeleteOnly the last line districts. What about, " . . . In ways / she gave out kindness daily in bouquets"? Or, "the way / her kindness seemed each day a bright bouquet"? Or, "in ways / a mother's love is given-- in bouquets"? Or, . . . . (Don't mind me. I'm an inveterate tinkerer.)