Tuesday, July 10, 2007


It's never too late to smell the flowers
Through these tired old eyes
They were planted in spring
At a time with my mother-many years ago
Since that day I have tended
To all their needs and whims
It is the way I connect to mother
As my own sight dims
To close my eyes and imagine
Through the frangrances
That they do bring
Memories of my mother's love
In a long forgotten spring
A ribbon tied into her hair
At her work in the garden
She was like a Shakespearean maiden
In the forest of Arden

© 2006 Moses Lestz - All Rights Reserved

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