My father’s garden is overgrown;
A jungle of wild flowers from
My mother’s time.
She loved the wilderness, transplanted it;
It bloomed because of her
I feel it still:
My favourites are the peonies which bloom
Each June, ephemeral
Brightest of all.
I wrote this quadrille (poem of exactly 44 words) in response to the dVerse prompt ‘How does your garden grow?‘ Victoria, the host, gave us this inspiration: ‘Let’s hop into the garden of words and write a quadrille, a poem of exactly 44 words, excluding title, that uses any form of the word GARDEN.’
I’m afraid I’m a terrible gardener. I only have to look at a plant for it to wither and die! But my mum had that magical green-fingered touch which meant she could grow anything. Her flowers are still blooming more than 30 years after they were planted. And I have a sneaking suspicion peonies aren’t wildflowers, which hopefully won’t ruin the effect of the poem. I hope you enjoy it anyway!