Poems of Home

For many of us much of our lives happen at home. This fact alone would make our homes a special place, but our homes are important to us for many more reasons. Our home is both a source of memories past and a promise of what is to come. Some One has written these poems to reflect this reality.

Layers of Paint

Over the years we’ve painted that door,
And now it’s a record of our life before. 
Layers of paint are life concealed. 
Scrape them away to find life revealed. 
Our whole house is history past. 
Time, it seems, has passed so fast. 
Looking back to when we were young,
When renovations were just begun,
Room by room the changes progressed.
It’s so clear now how we were blessed. 
Each room has its memories compiled
Like the love we shared ‘tween parent and child.
Like the love between husband and wife,
Bringing joy and peace throughout our life. 
Fifty years of memories hoarded,
In this very house all were recorded. 
So that now as I walk from room to room
I can sweep them up with my mind’s broom. 
But when my time in our home has passed,
How much longer can this house last?
I can only hope when I’m here no more, 
That someone new will paint our door. 

Our Gardener

Spring fights off weary Winter's chill.
As cautious crocus poke up their heads
And great varieties of daffodils
Are dancing together in garden beds.

Our gardener pries each tropical prize
From the hothouse overflowing with green
And creates potted displays of all shape and size
With beauty that has never been seen.

Our gardener's an artist whose pallet includes
Lantana, lilies, and beautiful leaves.
Each plant is her child to be nourished and wooed,
As she has nourished her children and me.

She makes sure we have all that we need,
And gives us her love, honest and true.
She is so cherished by her children and me
And I'm sure by her daffodils too!

A Promise

This is the fourth spring you’ve missed, my love.
Your glorious daffodils have come and gone,
Watched by the blooms of magnolias above,
While sparrows and wrens sang their songs.

But with you not here, my dear,
For me this spring has sadly progressed
And it is all my fault, I fear,
That our home and garden are so distressed.

The picket fence that was once so white
Is faded, gray and unmended.
The garden beds that were such delight
Are replete with weeds untended.

The greenhouse roof is now leaking
And tangles of vines leave me in despair
The front porch swing is creaking
And even the treehouse needs repair

I miss the beautiful potted bouquets
That you prepared each spring
I miss you in so many ways
Through the joy and sorrow that each day brings.

Let me make this promise today;
I’ll do my best with head unbowed
I’ll turn this decline around, I pray.
And in the end, my love, I’ll make you proud!