Far off beyond the windows of my grief
I saw the garden.
Children were there, barefoot, absorbed in games
of French cricket.
There were roses, too.
Ducks and cats and one lone dog roamed the grass
and congregated
round the table set for Sunday tea.
Toasted buns were hot beneath their cover,
and bees were searching for the jam.
In my unshed tears cold separation flowed,
lonely and gray and dim.
Then from the lawn
you came to me—
and in the smile you gave
the children and the garden gathered close.
The dog lay warm upon my feet.
The opening rose beside your hand glowed crimson.
Your words came softly,
and gave again for all eternity
the beloved I had lost before the dawn.
