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