I remember mother's flowers,
beautiful in summer showers;
blooming from June to September,
mother's flowers, I remember.
She created texture and shape,
her garden a tranquil escape;
each visitor captivated,
texture and shape, she created.
It was tangled wild with color,
like a still life watercolor;
but no plant was ever strangled,
wild with color, it was tangled.
Like a meadow feral and free,
and of course it had a shade tree;
because of mother now I grow,
feral and free, like a meadow.
June 8, 2020
Copyright Protected, ID 20-1259-081-03
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Swap Quatrain
sponsor, Emile Pinet
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2020
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