My Mother's Garden

My mother's garden tells a story

of warmth and sunlight;

of cold and cloudy skies;

and of life, death, and rebirth

as a testament to nature's

ever-changing facade.

When the temperature outside

begins to climb,

the tulips poke their bright heads

above the soil

to paint the air with vibrant color.

If I had to define peace, I'd say:

I love nothing more than to sit

on my mother's patio,

where I can watch the lilies

sway in the wind, and the butterflies

flit from flower to flower, while the fishpond

bubbles merrily in the background.

The moon lilies bloom until the first frost,

and when they die, and their sweet perfume

no longer fills the night air, you know

Autumn is on its way. Still, the blazing

reds and oranges of the leaves

keep the impending cold away a little longer.

But soon, the pleasant colors,

sights and sounds,

of my mother's garden are buried

by snow. Left behind are harsh blacks and browns and

silence. But winter doesn't last forever,

and when the temperature outside

begins to climb,

the tulips poke their bright heads above the soil.