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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

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