Honeysuckle Blues
How I remember, the sweet scents, of your aroma when I was a kid. The beauty of your essence. The full blooms that use to grow. The sweet nectar, was eternal bliss. Grandma use to plant you every year. The ones that were already planted grew wild like a rose. Sweet Honeysuckle, that would, guide you to the depths of, your soul. Full of blooms, until the last petal,fell. Grandma, always loved, honeysuckle, Jasmin and the wild Roses. She had a green thumb. How I will, treasure those memories, when she was alive, Her garden was always a special place. Every flower that bloomed, was a sacred space. But the honeysuckle was what always bought momma home. Born and raise in North Carolina. Momma loved to go home. Grandma's Garden was always in full bloom. As a kid, grandma use to always ask me to help her dig. So we can plant the sweet Honeysuckle, she always cherished. How I miss those days as a kid. Honeysuckle blues, now begins. My grandma, always did her best. But when she planted her garden it was the perfect thing,she did . When I remenice, about all the hard work we did, I miss those days, we shared together. I miss those heavenly scents. Honeysuckle blues, overcomes me. But at least I still, have those wonderful memories.
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