A Garden Mom

A myriad of enchanting flowers at grandma's grandiose garden that bloomed like perennial wildflowers used to fascinate a multitude of people who entered the porch of our century-old ancestral abode. A kid at seven I wondered when i heard her every morning whilst sprinkling them with rice water; She spoke to each plant in nicknames like her own children~ Chrysanthemum she called, Chrissy her ravishing rose as Rossy her dazzling dahlia as Dolly her bushy bougainvillae as Bougy~ They smiled and danced during roll call; And when the evening came, in magical moonlit milieu like children at play I heard them singing sublime symphonies only for me and for grandma. My grandma was a great mom~ not only to her children not only to me but to all the flowers naive and wild beguilingly blossoming in her gracious garish garden. Alas, the garden is gone~ and so my grandma~ I hear the old porch calling me~ "Come back, my beloved child!".