The Garden

by

Lydia Laurel

As I sit in this garden,
Looking, sad, at the weeds
I remember the time
When it throve from the seeds.
I remember when I
Was young and so small
I planted some seeds,
And watched them grow tall.
I watched as they pushed
Through the rich, black soil.
Finally they bloomed,
A reward for my toil.
When I sat with the roses,
I had garden tea parties.
All my friends and I
Sat and called the boys smarties.
I would sit with my dolls,
Picking sweet-smelling flowers.
I would sit on my bench
When the tears came in showers.
Once I passed through the gates,
Once inside the tall walls,
I could be by myself,
Ignoring all calls.
Mother knew I liked to
Be alone in my spot,
So she left me alone,
Bother me she did not.
That was all long ago,
Now I am old and weary.
The weeds cover the walls,
And make my place look dreary.
But I still love the memories
This silent place does hold.
I sit down on my bench,
That stone bench of old.

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Life
by: John William McGrath III
from: Mesa, AZ, US

To visit all of Lydia Laurel's poems, click HERE

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