Occasionally, a great little work comes in my direction. This is the work of someone else. But I wouldn’t change a word.
Jane’s Garden
Quiet little songs she’d sing, to make a winter turn to spring
Songs for bulbs, songs for seeds, sung to satisfy their needs
Careful spacing, row on row, promised life to make them grow
Singing softly while she’d toil, adding love to barren soil.
Quiet little songs she’d sing, while surely summer followed spring
Songs for sunshine, songs for showers, blooming forth a choir of flowers
Harmonic colours, row on row, scents now added to the show
Softly sweet with rainbow praise, lending love to summer days.
Quiet songs, now sung no more, silence makes the heart grow sore
What hope now in muted hours, who will nurture next year’s flowers
Where the singer? Where the love? Gone too soon to up above
Quiet now, her little song, bitter winter comes along.
Quiet little songs she sings, no more winter, sweet warm springs
Songs of living, songs of knowing, love is needed for the growing
Watching tender sparks of life, devoted mother, loving wife
Gardening yet, while gently bringing, joy to all things in her singing.
AES