My Secret RoseGarden

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WHEN I WAS A CHILD MY FATHER HAD A GARDEN,
OH, WHAT A GARDEN...

On the first day of summer vacation,
I remember taking off my shoes and carefully tiptoeing out the back door
In the early morning just after sunrise...
maybe even before sunrise if my mother didn't see me!
The dewy grass was so cold, and my feet were so tender!

My summer was spent in the garden.
Pickle and mayonnaise jars held captive honeybees by day
and fireflies in the twilight of early evening before bedtime.
Books were read belly-to-belly and eye-to-eye
with grasshoppers and caterpillars.
The air was filled with the heady fragrance of Daddy's roses.
He grew roses, you see. Everywhere one looked there were roses.
Brehon Rose's Roses

I've moved back home.
Years have passed, I'm no longer a little girl,
and the roses are gone.
Trees have grown up transforming the sunny garden into one of shade.
One day not long ago, I met an old friend.
She asked if there were still roses in the garden.
I shook my head, no and said,
"Few roses grow well in the shade".

The garden is cool, and bees still buzz in the wildflowers growing in the shade of the tall trees.
In the evening I sit on my balcony, watch the twinkling fireflies,
and remember childhood.

Roses live and grow in my memory and in

My Secret RoseGarden

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