In the old garden
a golden flower opens
by the garden wall.
Its pollen gave life to me
the day I forgave myself
of iniquities.
In this old garden
I retreat with great splendor
with each breath of life
abide by love given to me.
This golden flower
lives beyond its existence;
each petal brings joy within
heartless souls,
and bestows each child
with the sweetest of aspiration
to be their best person.
In this old garden
I rest on the garden wall,
leaning on an old friend
with whom I have lost contact,
touching the inscription
I wrote long ago,
paying tribute
to the golden flower.
It reads:
“If blood is thicker than water,
then the ink of this pen is my life’s blood.”
A moment of soft tears of recollection,
I’m giving back to the golden flower a feeling of triumph;
on bended knees I am in gratitude,
for the golden flower
lives on in all.
** I love, you.
