The Flower Lady
“When after fifty years of mutual love
he died – so thus the powers that be
decided they would fell our tulip tree
then move me to a council flat …”
“And so my planting tended with such care
was left, run wild, the weeds that choked, of beauty bare.”
She told me - “Ever since I were a child
I loved all flowers, were beguiled
by any blossom, great or small,
the fragile rock rose, lupins tall.
Each tended by my fingers-green
looked on by she whose verdant dream
gave birth to joy.”
“But now my garden's gone (as he I loved).
I plant my pots, Forget-me-nots;
Sweet William, for his name lays there,
a hundred others in my care.”
Each window crowded with such blooms,
her tiny flat crammed, scenting rooms
with perfumes sensed but seldom held
for Eve as Adam chose to delve
into the secrets of the Earth.
(The price they paid proved little worth).
Dear lady, tender of our Mother's Grace
I'll not forget your smiling face,
as there amongst your potted plants
their riot colour seemed to dance …
But as the seasons turn to frost
not only Nature knows, but we your loss.
The artifice of funeral blooms
the organ's ill tuned, tuneless tunes.
A bell so solemn … Away with this,
a flower's head is each a kiss.
Return to Eden, that garden fair
once more to braid the garlands in your hair.