Her Garden

She grew herself a garden,
sprinkled colorful bouquets.

Blooming with devotion,
She gave it love and praise.

Although the storms blew hard,
And her flowers stems may bend.

She was always on her guard,
To grow them up against the wind.

One flower she kept nearest,
was determined through the years.

Not that it was dearest,
But she had grew it with her tears.

So when she closed the garden gate,
one last time against the storm.

This flower shed a tear of fate,
And pink pillows began to form.

The pillows grew and carried her,
To the garden up above.

The flower knew her path was sure,
The tear was made from love.

Author notes

Dedicated in memory of Ruth Kearns.
Aug.11 1918 to June 19, 2006
A fellow poet and gardener, full of life and love for her family. I am proud to call her my Grandmother. God bless you Ruth.
Written June 23rd, 2006