Sunday, March 27, 2011


I can't believe it is almost ten years since I wrote this piece for my Mother, and although it is autumn now it reminded me of another Sunday morning in Spring.


It is springtime and my garden looks a picture,
The roses are blooming and there is perfume in the air.
How I would love to bring some roses to you
And tell you of my care!

Although I cannot do this, I’ll pick them just the same
And sit and think of times together spent.
Of laughter, tears and sharing
And all that it has meant.

I pick them and place them in a vase close by
And am pensive and gather you in thought.
I remember the care and pain
And the lessons that you taught.

We did not always see things eye to eye but felt
Things heart to heart it’s true.
And now looking at my garden
Reminds me ~ I miss you.

To bring these blossoms to you would bring me pride,
To tell you of their colours – their fragrance would be smelt.
This would bring a special closeness
A tenderness would be felt.

You could not see these flowers but your hands would touch each petal
And through my eyes you would see their beauty true.
And I would describe in detail
Each rose I’d picked for you.

You did not see my children, although they stood beside you.
And now that they are grown I know you would take pride
In all they are and have become~
A joy you would not hide.

So on this springtime Sunday morning, accept the gift I offer
It is not just flowers from my garden – it’s love and thanks I bring.
I know you came by this way
I felt the bird’s soft wing.

© Linda J. Vaughan 

 October 21 2001

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