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A Garden Mom
A myriad of enchanting flowers
at grandma's grandiose garden
that bloomed like perennial wildflowers
used to fascinate a multitude of people
who entered the porch
of our century-old ancestral abode.
A kid at seven I wondered
when i heard her every morning
whilst sprinkling them with rice water;
She spoke to each plant in nicknames
like her own children~
Chrysanthemum she called, Chrissy
her ravishing rose as Rossy
her dazzling dahlia as Dolly
her bushy bougainvillae as Bougy~
They smiled and danced during roll call;
And when the evening came,
in magical moonlit milieu
like children at play I heard them
singing sublime symphonies
only for me and for grandma.
My grandma was a great mom~
not only to her children
not only to me
but to all the flowers naive and wild
beguilingly blossoming in her gracious garish garden.
Alas, the garden is gone~
and so my grandma~
I hear the old porch
calling me~
"Come back, my beloved child!".
Copyright ©
Jcb Brul
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