Flowers of remembrance It's 33 years ago today... If you would read this, yonder in faraway Africa "a very happy birthday" I couldn't give you flowers from our garden but in my heart I still remember and cherish the soundness and intense joy of when you were born All memories, like tender beautiful flowers today I can call you by your name "dear Inge" "a very happy birthday" yonder in faraway Africa Mum 13.09.00 ________________________________________________________________ Trees die upright   Birds are still sitting on your branches The wind caresses your bald crown You're standing so majestic and very upright, yet the battle has run its course No silver lake and no future either slowly everything gets undermined how can it be that you are slowly dying away ?   You were beautiful in your fresh spring coat but I even loved you more in winter when everything was grey and bald and you, the silver proud den in our garden in white or ice, your wintercoat with here or there once in a while a spark of light and a ray of sunshine that's how you contributed to the hope that overcame winter   I haven't counted the years, nor the heights 8 stories high perhaps and only twenty years young, you looked so strong and so sure of yourself Haven't I hugged you enough ? or thank you enough, or were you just tired of all that standing up well, what does it matter   The last few months your silver turned brown, and all that rests is a bald crown but also your dead silhouet I still like I'd like to thank you for all those years The joy you gave us Even if you weren't human You lived in the heart of our garden   What silent joy brings Generosity and abundance Voyage of discovery Nature and joy of gardening ria - 2003 _______________________________________________________________       Silver fir, 2 years later   Bruised, de-barked, damaged all over your limbs You're still there although soon you will be past A woodpigeon, silvergrey and round keeps guard for a little while longer And basks himself in the sun, generously smiling, for quite a while A picture, on your skinny branch They, well fed with a nice coat of feathers And you, how weak you look now Regularly, birds coming to rest on your dead skeleton not a soft, but a willing bed oh, give it up Your SOUL has fled a bit more each year it hurts yet there will never be an end when they chop you down, later, in winter dug up your roots a new cycle will start and in the sky, more horizon will develop I'll mist you, silver fir of ours !   August 3, 2005 - ria

31-05-2006 om 00:00 geschreven door garden_and_nature