Genetic Influence
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Today, I am posting poems about my mother, who was "one in a million," my idol.
Her green thumb was legendary.
She grew lemon, peach, apple,
even grapefruit trees from seeds,
after she ate the fruit.
Her last years, in government housing,
and restricted from growing plants
in the postage-size plot
fronting her apartment,
she gathered pots,
filled them with color,
and set them along her walk.
Seeds fell from fading blooms,
and took root among the rocks.
Her moss rose, petunias, sweet peas,
flowering almond, and variegated sedum
thrive bountifully in my garden,
years after her death, a fitting tribute
to her love of nature.
They speak to me
of her presence with the living,
and offer promise of future reunion
among the blossoms.
CFA© 6/6/2014
Copyright © Cona Adams | Year Posted 2014
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