I stand beside this garden,
Wondering how it came to be,
So lovely in this wondrous space.
What deed of faith, what act of grace.
Perhaps it's just it's been there long,
Tilled by someone sweet and strong.
Giving flowers roots that tunnel deep,
The ancient secrets that they keep.
Every kind of flower, every genus,
Every color in the spectrum.
The iris, the pansy, the tulip, the rose,
Each confident in a calm repose.
Beauty springing forth unbidden,
Yet welcome when it comes,
Just a few of God's delights,
That shimmer in the morning sun.
Then I take the leap of faith
From that garden true to me and you,
How the years have quickly flown, like sand unto the wind.
How in that time you've grown to be my grandest, dearest friend.
How we've blossomed and quickly bloomed where we were planted,
Talking all our problems through, not taking things for granted.
Blossoming like the lilacs sweet that burst with color on the hillside,
World of wonder, maze of beauty, love that's true and tried.
Perhaps it's not a stretch to say, we are like that ancient garden.
We carry roots that tunnel deep, roots that guard us as we sleep.
And as long as I am standing and am rooted to this spot,
I'll be your flower on the hill, your sweet forget me not.
-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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