My Ma's Garden- a work in progress.

That year my mother grew flowers outside my window,
garden shades of purples, reds, and whites. Their subtle
triple palette interplay of pigments that showered
from my window sill onto the garden floor that washed
the door step post like silk crowned corollas gaurds.

Together mixing between their floral trinities a soft autumn
redolence that served to calm my mien as it rode in
on a cool falling breeze that wiped my sullen latter day brow
and swept me away from the heat wave haze to my lotus lands.

I loved the first autumn days when it began to grow cold
and the night brought crisp northern winds that caused the trees
to shake awake from their dusk hour slumber and rustle up their
silent branch dance in the night washed glow of golden shade.

These soft lit memories come back to me in the late night gleam of
inspiration songs that send me back to the latter days of summer
because it is now i remember the end times and can't help but see
your porcelain white skin blush as if you had your own incandescent
filament that sends my pining heart into a steady rhythm buzz.