My Virtual Reading Room

"MY MOTHER'S GARDEN"



Her heart is like her garden,
Old fashioned, quaint and sweet,
With here a wealth of blossoms,
And there a still retreat.
Sweet violets are hiding,
We know as we pass by,
And lillies, pure as angel thoughts,
Are opening somewhere nigh.



Forget-me-nots there linger,
To full perfection brought,
And there bloom purple pansies
In many a tender thought.
There love's own roses blossom,
As from enchanted ground,
And lavish perfume exquisite
The whole glad year around.

And in that quiet garden -
The garden of her heart -
Songbirds are always singing
Their songs of cheer apart.
And from it floats forever,
O'ercoming sin and strife,
Sweet as the breath of roses blown,
The fragrance of her life.

 

By Alice E. Allen

Photo by John Peters - used with permission from:
http://www.istockphoto.com/