It wasn't a war zone
Or a junkyard pile
But it wasn't a home -
Hadn't been for a while.

The garden had run wild
Not dead - too alive
Untended, feral child
A fight to survive

Then into my life,
Through the briar and thorn
Came this beautiful wife,
Like a smile or a dawn.

She quietly caresses
With a feminine heart
Transforming, she blesses
With a magical art.

The woman she weaves
A new world every day
And the home somehow breathes
As she sings on her way.