Sunflowers bowed their heads To a lady Wearing hair piled Into a gardener's crown. She removed her apron at two, And draped her frock With a string of pearls. Fringed shawl bellowed In an ocean breeze fanning Hydrangea and gladioli Kissed by elegant hands. Seasoned wood anchored into Black iron beckoned to Cradle weary bones. She sat, slowly savoring scones, Sipping a taste of Chamomile tea Sown, grown, gently picked, And brewed above aroma Kneaded and baked. She rested Upon the bench Surveying fruits of toil Season after season, Until her long winter Three generations later Awakened into my spring.
|Published in The Longfellow Journal, Volume X
© Pamela Rhodes Myricks
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