Grandma's Garden
Oh, how we stare at the pretty flowers
Awaiting their sunny bloom
Slurping down their syrupy nectar
In hopes they'll heal our wounds
A girl would lay amongst peaceful whispers
Swapped amongst the wheat
Hot smoke from her Grandma's chimney
Inspiration at her feet
Oh, how she'd stare at the pretty flowers
Her heart growing ever full
As a bee attracted to pollen
She'd find love in the pedal's gold
This poem is about:
Me