n the garden of her winter, hope lies beneath
the hardened earth of heart, which steadily bequeaths
a single green petal, fragile and alone,
strength to rival Atlas, pushing through rock and stone.
A tender bud unnoticed in a garden of plenty,
nature’s sacred treasure, nourishing many.
Winds of might assail, crushing countless blooms,
rains of heaven pour, whispering the garden’s doom.
Yet cycles softly turn as clouds drift into sleep,
this tender flower stands, wonder of roots deep.
Endless streams of birds and creatures small
feed and flourish beneath her kiss of life for all.
Her fragrance travels farther than her eyes can view,
the wind embracing gently, carrying her seed to imbue.
She may never witness all the life her giving gives,
yet another garden blossoms … through her, many live.
Seeking not her own, nor longing for acclaim,
wildflowers fill our world, still blooming in her name.
In the garden of her winter, life renews.
Blessed are we who flourish because of you