FLOWERS OF MY FATHER'S GARDEN

I met thee, thou flowers of my father’s garden

Behold ye peaceful petals from which all sepals cling to

Hallowed is the hand that now holds you

And has stopped you from giving off your sweet smell

The desolate flower awaits another like you

To colour and draw towards itself

From the blowing winds to support

From the hanging sun its roots to shade





NB
This poem is in remembrance of an aunty who is "Gone but not forgotten". The earth lie lightly on you Aunty Beck.