Sunday, 24 July 2016

In my granddaddy's garden

I recall it now
In my granddaddy's garden
O so long ago

I had to go round
As he was ill in his bed
To tidy it up

It didn't need it
Yes the weeds had taken over
But was beautiful

The burdock had come
While his peonies had died
Dwindling away

Insects were whirring
Hummingbirds were darting
Sucking the nectar

All making patterns
Hovering over the plants
Just as they wanted

The garden had changed
Nothing could stem the wild growth
Softening the view

No work was needed
As I laid in the tall grass
That would be my loss

“Are you pulling weeds?”
I heard granddaddy call
I nodded and lied

Image found at


  1. I like the way you use "stem" as a verb in this piece. However, I'm not sure granddaddy would have liked being lied to. But, then, he never knew, did he? ;)

  2. I like the touch of nature in your poems, and refreshing pictures too. Of course, you love observing nature :)

    1. I let a garden go to weed many years ago. It became a symbol of survival and freedom for me. Your words brought back a lot of memories,


  3. Sounds a lot like my garden.

  4. I love the way that this was beautiful

  5. Sounds like the makings of a very mad granddaddy but a nice spot to sit a while.