The Blossoms of Home
THE BLOSSOMS OF HOME
Heaven must be this sweet -
Old Pilikov across the street,
The Schillings there along the shore,
Apple trees just outside door.
In the softness of lush pink shade
My children grew and played
With their heavy laden giant blooms
And inhaled their pure perfumes.
To start each day in blossom,
In display perfect and fulsome,
Spread low over my transom -
Is surely life in heaven’s bosom.
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