This is the spot she loved the most,
busy in the early morning hours,
Rearranging potted plants,
mending broken and sickly flowers.

Her hands never grew tired of potted soil,
or labors of earthly love.
She had a knack for gardening;
a green thumb, you might say, from Above.

Sitting upon her windowsill,
would always be a daily fresh bouquet;
Whether sunny or bright or, even perhaps,
during the coldness of a long Winter's day.

I saw her hands as they began to age,
carrying water to sprinkle her treasures.
She loved each one, with a mother's love;
which gave her so much pleasure.

I come to the garden shed, alone, and
just stand there; taking the scene all in.
I can still see her busy with pansies, roses, and violets;
working hard until day's end.

The fragrance of the shed remains the same,
a blend of sweet smelling rose and potting soil;
a reminder of her labors, her many hours,
of tender and delicate toil.

Her hat still hangs, all wrinkled and worn;
which kept her protected from the heat.
I can see her now, spreading the petals of a rose,
adoringly, at the Master's feet.


© 2004 by Sandra Lewis Pringle
http://grtgsfmtheheartandsoul.net/
Author of "Singing Loudly as the Lions Roar".