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Garden of Promise


Rusty Broadspear

Empty terracotta pots and lifeless limbs on dull untidy trees,

Inert driftwood frozen in time, in patches of dirty ice.

Visiting birds longing for tossed crumbs and liquid water,

Dart frantically into bare boned shrubs, flittingly precise.

As the weather improved, she would give nature a nudge,

Like she always did, and didn't mind, providing time allowed.

Spring and Summer would see a garden fulfilled, enriched,

With food, fruit and vegetables, a veritable, bountiful shroud.

A lady given of life and to life, of goodness and to goodness,

A wife, sister or mother to everyone and to all events.

Lady of a distant loch and lady of the furthest galaxies.

A girl, a woman, so fine, divine, immeasurable and intense.

Sunlight bit into the sharp edges of my cut-glass tumbler,

As I sat alone at the window of the tavern stirring my mind.

Each reflected ray, a dancing display of words of endearment

Togetherness, destiny and the mysteries of mankind.

Lady wearing velvet, accompanying nature in her Sunday best,

The Sun warmed her garden and smiling, she patiently waited.

Time was drawing near, when she'd meet him face to face

His life was packed, the plane flew high expectations unabated.

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