In God’s garden of love, you are his forget-me-not. Happy Saturday.
It’s time to put a poem on the page. This was written for a gentleman in long term care in 2005. His name was Mr. Flowers and learning that I wrote poetry, he asked if I would write a poem for him. Hence A Garden Not Forgotten. This was first posted in 2014. Happy Saturday.
A garden full of flowers
tended in the mind with care
or tended not at all
if wildflower seed is planted there
will reap its keeper plenitude
in fragrant showy splendor
and bring the memory of spring
come blustery December.
Blooms spring forth upon the mind,
deep wine rose and purple phlox,
daffodils of yellow,
replace the snow and blizzards
in the darkened winter hours
and keep alive in mind’s great eye
that garden full of flowers.
Mind’s garden keeps on growing;
wild winds and winter snow
won’t whip the fragrant flowers
that mind has come to grow.
The seeds are firmly planted
in the fertile soil of thought
where that garden full of flowers
also blooms forget-me-nots.
I just have to write about these recent love stories I have either heard about or experienced first hand; not first hand for me but for someone close to me. This would cover the two recent weddings I wrote about, Barefoot Over the Bridge and The Unexpected Gift. These weddings involved young people in their twenties, two of my granddaughters, in fact. Both were beach weddings; one bride walked barefoot over a bridge and the other stood with her groom on a huge rock in the sea when the tide was out.
However, there is another wedding that I heard about. This is a couple who have been dating for a couple of years, fell in love and got married also just recently. You’re groaning, right? Who needs to hear about another wedding, right? Well this couple happens to be in their twilight years…she’s eighty and he’s eight-four. The bride made her own dress and looked just delightful (I saw a photo). Her groom was in more casual attire as it was a back-yard wedding. There was no mistaking the look of love on his face as he gazed at his beloved during the photo shoot.
And then I heard of a couple who have been married for sixty-four years, he’s in his nineties and she in her eighties. Every night without fail, hubby leans over and kisses his wife goodnight. “He’s been doing this since we got married,” she told me.
And then there are the couples who choose not to marry but have a deep love for each other. They live together in exactly the same way that they would have had they crossed over a bridge, stood on a rock, or taken vows in a back yard garden…or wherever.
Love and commitment are very evident in the lives of all these people, young or old, large weddings or small, and whether they decided to tie the knot or not.
God bless them all.
For those who like the poetry posts…(I hope it isn’t a duplicate)…
THE ME I USED TO BE
I miss the me I used to be,
the things I used to do,
I miss the energy and verve
the vim and vigor too.
I miss the way my feet could dance,
the way my body bent,
contorted to the Limbo
(under the pole I went).
I miss the feel of garden soil
where once my hands would dig
while scrunching down to plant the seeds
before my joints got big.
Yes, I miss the me I used to be
and all the things I did,
but even though the body’s old,
inside I’m still a kid.
Thanks to those who ask for the poems…I love poetry too.