Poetry For Children: My Grandma © Poem by Roann Mendriq

In her garden, Grandma potters,
amidst her plants and flowers and trees;
Grandpa slowly, gently waters,
Daisies in the evening breeze.

Grandma sits among her Roses,
Grandpa prunes them, one by one;
Every evening he proposes,
In the way when they begun.

The gentle Lily, Grandma tends,
Shyly sweet at garden's edge;
Grandpa picks the bricks and mends
the Cactii at the entrance hedge.

Then Grandma tends her Violet,
Glowing softly in the shade;
Lending beauty at the sunset,
thriving in the verdant glade.

Bougainvillea in their splendour,
line the fence with blazing grace;
Vines of fern, delicate, tender,
frame the flowers like fine green lace.

Then, Grandma gets down on her knees,
As if she's about to pray;
There, amidst her plants and trees,
She smiles at me to softly say...

'Every plant is like a child,
Tended gently, it won't grow wild! '