In The Garden

By Mary E. Adair

This morning in the Garden
Where I sat me down to grieve,
My glance drifted to the Four-o-clocks
Midst green bower of stem and leaves.
The blossoms were still all open
Having their nightly duty done
Of wafting sweet aromas
Before Earth is greeted by the sun--
And as I gazed upon them
An old lesson I relearned,
For their petals began to crumple
Drawing in as if were burned.
And to see them, once so proud,
Now crinkled almost from sight,
Added sadness to my thinking
For they were glorious in the night!
And I grimly began my duties,
And I struggled through the day,
Then, as the sun was sinking,
Once more I strolled along their way--
And their petals again were opened,
Indeed they seemed to shine,
And a voice then spoke within me
Saying, "'tis the way of the divine..."
For oft' when friends are taken,
Prematurely, we would say,
Yet, their souls will reawaken
In God's Heaven for their new day.

©October 1997 Mary E. Adair