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