You’d think that she was praying
Down there on her knees
Paying close attention
To everything she sees
Her fingers busy scrabbling
Among the plants and dirt
And she spends so long bowed over
You know her back must hurt!
But you know that it’s all worth it
When you see her gardens bloom
And the flowers shine so brightly
They’d banish any gloom
And all the scents and perfumes
That waft up in the air
You’d think that Ann’s created
A piece of Heaven there!
She has always had a garden
No matter where she goes,
She’s always planting something
And tending Father’s rose.
And when her labour’s over
She loves to go and see
The result of all her endeavours
With an evening G and T.
I think this is how Ann worships
Creating beauty for the eyes
And whatever prayers she mutters
Must surely reach up to the skies
And she blends these lovely perfumes
Without Frankincense or Myrrh
I’m sure the God of all the Gardens
Must be so well pleased with her.
Copyright © Res Burman 25th July 2020
