Fresh seeds of thought grow in the garden
as I sit beneath the dappled tree in shadows
amongst the birthing beds of my mind.
Rosemary is the flower of remembrance,
she lines the pathways of ancient dreams
where children dance in-between the pastel
rainbows of their yesterdays.
Jasmine clad walls fragrance the showers
falling into rivulets of youthful promise
so sweetly nourished by the kiss of charity
that touches each blush of morning light.
Seeds become saplings growing in faith
and hope as tomorrow becomes a reality.
Nurtured in divine love they are cradled
in velvet, verdant leaves with their siblings.
I hear the sweetest little trill of a new robin,
he is the latest son of many generations
of maestros that lift my symphonic heart
to resonate from leaf to bough to the sky
and all the heavens beyond.
This is where thoughts grow and are renewed
after death, for there is no lasting death in the
vision of a poetess as she sits in God’s garden.
(c) Stella Armour
~
