From the age of three, I do remember,
The kitchen window, in mid December.
My grandma and grandad, would let me stand,
By the window to view, a garden so grand.
In December I’d see, a blanket of white,
As snow had fallen, throughout the night,
To cover the bushes, and flowers alike,
And try to hide, their colour so bright.
I’d run outside, as young as a flower,
And knock off the snow, I’d feel the power.
An invincible boy, a superman child,
I’d run through the snow, I always smiled.
Spring came so soon, the snow had gone,
The flowers would bud, I’d see the lawn.
Green grass returned, and sleepy bud,
That drooped off flowers, they lay in mud.
The awakening of life, as an alarm went off,
The seed potatoes, would lie in the trough.
Some flowers did wake, earlier than others,
Their petals do squint, through leaves of their brothers.
Yellow, and green, and purple appear,
As flowers will open their eyes and ear,
With the sound of birds, that now fill the sky,
The flowers will follow, as they fly on by.
Summer arrives, the garden’s in bloom,
The array of colour, as shadows consume.
Large evergreen’s perch, on either side,
Like defenders from sun, and it’s glorious tide.
A tide of ripples, and canes of gold,
That hit a garden, so delicate, and old.
Too much light, could harm the flower,
As the sun has harnessed, too much power.
My grandad is clever, he planted the seeds,
In shadows when needed, and pulled out the weeds.
He makes sure, that every plant is fed,
With sunlight and water, as it lies in its bed.
Autumn is now, to arrive in the garden.
The heat from sun, my grandad does pardon.
The sun has given his garden a rest,
As cool breezes arrive, and birds will nest.
The petals do fall, and their colour does fade,
As more of the garden, falls into the shade.
The sun is now tired, and can’t reach the height,
Where it was in the summer, to give flowers a delight.
The violet, the emeralds, the oranges, and red,
Now scatter the grounds, of the flower bed.
The flowers, have had enough for a year,
And sleep with comfort, as my grandparents are near.
From birth I have remembered, this wonderful place,
That each time I visit, brings smiles to my face.
The memories I have, are stored in the ground,
In a garden of wonder, where memories are bound.
My grandma and grandad, are lucky enough,
To tend to the grounds, the beds, and trough.
They’ve spent their money, and dedicated their time,
To make a garden of Eden, as the wind carries a chime.
A chime that hangs, from a tree so grand,
That lies at the bottom, of their flower filled land.
I love to go, and remember my memories,
It calms me down, it’s one of my remedies.
A bush that lives throughout the year,
Is there, to tell me that Buster is near.
Buster, my companion, my amazing old dog,
Now lies in ashes, between the bush, and the log.
My happiness lies, in my grandparents Eden,
With, an array of flowers, it’s story does sweeten.
As the garden itself, has been alive,
For fifty plus years, it’s flowers still thrive.
Copyright © Bradley Lane | Year Posted 2022