Granny’s garden

the dying daffodils reminded me
of a long ago tended garden.
Each flower had a place
Red to the left and yellow to the right

Granny pulled their heads off
and stomped on each stalk
frenetically each day she roamed
the rows of yellow daffodils

grandad see could kill nothing,
not even a slug so he slunk
behind and gathered the leaves
tying them all together
with ribbons of concern
weeping as the willow by the pond.

I used to think granny hated
like hated every thing and body
but I think she was broken hearted
for the man she knew before

Grandad’s heart was aching
for all the men he’d known
who laid down their lives
in the war to end all wars

I loved this statue of
ice cold tendrils
I was never scared like the others
She brought fear to every one
But I heard her pray once
For us kids
And the two H’s in her life.

Two broken hearted people
Living in a box
Unable to talk or even to listen
Forever bound in silence
No reflection of pond’s surface
Of a childhood long ago
The only way they could converse
Was having red on the left
And dying daffs on the right.

Dying daffodil
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