From the garden of love they planted a seed and tended it
with care; and it grew to be me. They watered it with tears
and long sleepless nights; fed it with doses of sunshine and delight.


In the row beside it stood flowers oh so fair those were
handled too with the greatest of care. In the garden of love
they grew oh so tall; one didn't make it was so very small.


In the cold winters night they covered us warm
and in the thunderous showers kept us from harm.
They watched, they waited and pulled out the weeds
and loved the little flower that grew to be me.


Now I'm full grown blossoming there, from the garden of love
comes the greatest of care. The gardeners grew weary and bent
from the pain. of too many winters and far too much rain.


With a wave of their hands a smile on the face they went
to tend to the Garden of Grace. So I try to be diligent
in all of my plans the garden of love now in my hands.


Now there's a new crop of flowers growing so rare I know that
the Master is tending them there. When my time is come to enter
the place I'll go Where my parents tend to the Garden of Grace.


Smoke Martin
April 24th 1998
Best Serious Poem
Geo Cities Picket Fence Poem Contest