There are only memories,
where a garden used to grow. Some days I think she’d like to plant
a flower here, a snow pea there. Mostly she just rests and remembers…but
her memory isn’t always clear.
where a garden used to grow. Some days I think she’d like to plant
a flower here, a snow pea there. Mostly she just rests and remembers…but
her memory isn’t always clear.
The rows she sowed still
remember her, the touch of her fingers, and the feel of her hands. But
the recollections of springs of the past are fading fast.
You will do well to
find the roses you hung to dry long ago. The connecting again with some
memories will one day be all that’s left to know.
And though the fields
have gone to weeds, long ago forgotten the touch of tilling, the water,
and the seeds…There is the scent of green, of life of love. It lives
on in you…you are the flowers now…grow proud and tall…
Matthew Lyle Landsman
Summer 2008…
Matthew Lyle Landsman 
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