Francis and the Garden

With the watering, came the changing, scattering of leaves.

Along the line of vagrancy, came the thoughts.

Mirrored images…of you.

Of course,

it is your time of year.

Those Irish eye’s laughing in the rain.

Not to be overcome.

Memories of you.

Tears like a forest filled with dew.


A gold cross with a clasp never to unfurl.

The hushed way you could hum…Amazing Grace.

The innocence always reminded me of silk on lace.


And, as it showers in Francis’s garden…

Every thought I cherish.

Neither black.

Nor blue.

Just an… easy reflection of life contrasting with the season’s hues.

amazing 1
And, Grace, my fears relieved
How precious did that grace appear.



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