In the garden of my grandmother’s house,

magnolias bloomed like whispers.

their petals soft as secrets shared,

fragrant memories drifting on warm breezes,

shadows of afternoons spent in laughter.

 

Azaleas, bright as a child’s laughter,

their bold hues painting the air,

each blossom a promise of joy,

cuttings planted with threads of love,

each color a note in our family’s song.

 

Roses, proud and fragrant,

guarded by thorns,

yet inviting, their beauty a reminder

that love can be tender,

even when it bears its scars.

 

And willows on the front lawn, graceful sentinels,

dancing in the wind,

their long fingers brushing the ground,

offering shade and solace,

where stories lingered like soft echoes.

 

Oh, how I miss those days,

when the sun felt like a warm embrace,

and the laughter of family

was the heartbeat of those moments,

a melody that swells and recedes.

Now, time stretches, like the shadows of the willows, and I wander through the gardens of memory, where the colors remain vivid, but the voices have grown still.

 

In the silence, I find sadness and loss.

yet love that still blooms in the heart,

like magnolias unfurling in spring,

reminding me that though the days have passed,

they remain, forever, in the garden of my soul.

 

my hurting soul