Grandma's Garden

Oh, how we stare at the pretty flowers

Awaiting their sunny bloom

Slurping down their syrupy nectar

In hopes they'll heal our wounds

A girl would lay amongst peaceful whispers

Swapped amongst the wheat

Hot smoke from her Grandma's chimney

Inspiration at her feet

Oh, how she'd stare at the pretty flowers

Her heart growing ever full

As a bee attracted to pollen

She'd find love in the pedal's gold

 

This poem is about: 
Me

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