When entering my flower garden,Certain memories are released,
That is the passion that time would not relent,
Goad it back to form and let me dream once more,
Many decades ago the children could see,
And would love to lose themselves,
In the blossoms and vegetation of the planters,
Everything lovingly smelled and collected,
Questions filled that beautiful garden room,
The hydrangeas with their mystic and flowering clusters,
Soft pretty pinks, blues and whites; splendor soothing a childs heart,
Hold strong to ones memories as time will fly by precisely,
As adults the children ask the same wonderful questions,
Searching and exploring especially after the rains,
The spent flowers become cup-shaped seedpods,
Water pots of the garden now,
Drenching or refreshing,
Whomever,
Which loves a game.
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