The Sacred Garden
A songbird lifts my spirits
As I look towards the sky.
And spot a cloud that floats along
With a peculiar shape to catch my eye.
But I'm shaken from this tranquil gaze
As a young lady weeps and moans.
And in her grief, I find some relief...
As no one likes to cry alone.
But the grass is cut... the flowers fresh
And the sun is warm and bright.
There's a bench to rest my weary bones
And a pond where swans wore white.
A tree with limbs a hundred feet
Where two squirrels live and play.
On this summer day... its job is clear...
To provide just a little shade.
I kneel and drum my fingers
Across the chiseled words now dark and cold.
Wishing we had been more eloquent
With our narrative and prose.
But this gives way to a fractured grin
As I remember a young boy's torrid plight.
Where I would hide shaking behind the couch
As she watched scary movies late at night.
With such memories dancing in my head...
I have been truly loved and blessed.
But I'll now leave this sacred garden
Where my Mother lies at rest.
The End
Copyright © David Mchattie | Year Posted 2021
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment