By Myrna Moore
Sweeping past Queen Elizabeth Roses
The Weeping Willow
And there it stands
Garden ends.
Standing still
Little house
The shed
Climbing roses
Clambering around the windows
Inviting entry
Serried shelves
Neatly arranged
Kaleidoscopic pots of paint
Flanked by garden detritus
Spades, shovels, scythes
Stand to attention
Gleaming
Shuffled seed packets frame the table
Where newspaper sprawls
But it is the chair
So comfortable
And in sweet repose
My Father asleep
A morning’s work complete
Here the eye rests
Here the sense of a moment in time
Holds everything in place
Life is still life
Myrna Moore 2023