In Her Garden

She painted with flowers,
With shadow and sunlight,
With color and texture,
With water and stone,
On an ever-changing canvas,
Of rich earth and living things,
When she's in her garden,
She is at home.

When you walk through her garden gate,
You cast off your worries,
To the music of wind chimes,
You leave your burdens behind,
She creates with her artistry, a place of tranquility,
To soothe any spirit, and bring peace of mind.

With her grandmother's roses,
And her mother's sweet William,
And her sister's yellow iris, That still bloom though she's gone,

With sky-blue delphiniums,
And perfumed pink peonies,
When she's in her garden,
She is at home.

She fashions a haven
Of blossoms and green leaves,
Of fountains and waterfalls,
That quiet the soul,
With sweet-scented fragrance,
And every earthly delight,
When she's in her garden, She is at home.

With her grandmother's roses,
And her mother's sweet William,
And her sister's yellow iris,
That still bloom though she's gone,
With scented verbena,
And climbing blue clematis,
When she's in her garden,
She is at home,
A small bit of heaven where she is...
...At home.