Happy were the sound coming from the
little white house on Walnut street where
a small boy of five played in the back yard,
near his mother's beautiful flower garden
so clean and neat.
Roses of red, daffodils tall and true, colorful
gladiolus too. Morning glories, red, white and blue
growing on the garden gate, and spotted wing butterflies
fluttered from one flower to another. Little did he
know of his life long fate.
The sand in the hour glass quickly passed and
here he stands with all those years gone so fast.
Here on Walnut street in front of that old house,
no longer white, but a dirty weathered gray.
Windows broken and nothing seem to have survived
from those childhood days. Where sixty two years
ago he remembered that beautiful garden in the back
yard were he played as a boy of five.
He walks around the house to the back, where
his mother's beautiful garden once grew,
but only tall ugly brown weeds came into his view.
He tried to remember his mother's beautiful
garden, that all those years ago he once had known,
but now only tall weed have grown.
He shuts his eyes and imagines that he is only five,
and low and behold...there were Red roses, daffodils
tall and true, gladiolus too. Morning glories red,
white and blue growing on the garden gate and
kneeling in this beautiful garden was his
mother in here tender loving grace and once
again for the first time in sixty five years...
he could remember her beautiful smiling face.
