The Garden Pt. 2

Traveling around the country (and over the continent) on my own, I was forced to create the idea of home no matter the place I landed. However, while the saying goes, "Home is where the heart is," I learned that it should be modified to, "Home is where mother is." On my latest journey I was able to meet a woman who inspired me to rekindle hope that true kindness exists.

The following poem was written for Amy Carr, a woman recently widowed from her husband fighting leukemia for seven years. After marrying at a young age, Amy hung tight and lived accordingly to the ideal lifestyle of a housewife while caring for her ailing husband. However after he left, she was struck with the responsibility of recreating a new structure for her home. As her future daughter-in-law entering her home, I stayed by her side as she picked up the pieces with straightened shoulders. I watched as she slipped away to silently shed tears so that her younger children would honor her strength. But I also watched as she questioned her beliefs, while hope began burning away, while she struggled to find the beauty in herself. This was written to remind her that as a mother, her warmth, love, strength and beauty are beyond the reach of those below her.

Through the garden I walk,

Another thought occurs to me,

I am neither the rose,

nor the common daisy.

Though the wind sways all of this field,

There is but one who refuses to yield,

Standing tall is a defiant tree,

How could I have not realized, that is me!

My branches reach up high and free,

So the sun's warmth would cradle my leaves,

Into the ground, my roots buried deep,

Providing home to those I keep,

I could care less for the toxic weed,

From the poison that is comparison, I am freed,

And though the wind's strong, I refuse to lean,

Through season's change, I remain evergreen.