A family's a garden, they say
With all kinds of bushes and trees,
With corners that don't catch a ray
And rushes that sway in the breeze.
A family's a garden in Spring,
When new life will touch every thing;
Till the warmth of a glorious May
Makes a garden of flowers one day.
And yet if this garden will grow
It must have its fair share of storms,
Be cooled when the north wind will blow
And bloom as the temperature warms.
In Autumn the Summer leaves fold
In a carpet of crimson and gold,
Till they're frozen in Winter's first snow -
Still the garden's the garden, I know.
Come into my garden and hear
The proud Robin singing his tune.
Come in on an evening that's clear
And blossom scent reaches the moon.
Come into my garden and see
The great oaks of sweet memory,
And water the ground with a tear
At the memory of the those who were here -
In the garden of our Yesteryear.
Copyright © 2016 Abigail Judith Fox