A Garden Waltz

It’s fuzzy…
But memory floods back…

I’m sitting on the hardwood floor…
Hands clapping over chubby, dirty knees.
The old TV is on,
The one built into a cabinet
Tall and high with light colored wood.
The funny old man on TV
Waves his white stick.
The music starts.
“In the Garden” of notes
I hear them but I also hear your love
Through the bars of my crib,
And then I see your love
“In the Garden” of music.
He with bright blue eyes
And really good-looking clothes
Takes you by the hand
And waltzes you around
In a plantless living room.
You’re both so happy
And so young…

Then memory fades,
And I’m “In the Garden” of repose.
It’s lifeless with no flowers or plants.
You can’t dance.
The dead earth rectangles
Speak of separation
Through time and space.

I pray some day
To see you waltzing again
“In the Garden” of eternity.


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