Bob Stewart - Grandma's Flowers

Grandma's Flowers

When spring is full and tulips bloom,
I never fail to see,
Strong images from childhood,
A place I loved to be.

My father's parents lived next door,
It was my second home,
A place to go since I could walk,
And on my own could roam.

After the deaths of some of those close to me I wrote eulogies recalling images and thoughts about them. With Grandma Stewart it came out a bit different. Up until she died at the age of 95 she remained mentally sharp. As it became clear that her death was coming close I wrote this poem for her birthday. She got to read it a few months before she died.

I sent it to her nicely printed in color, decorated with small pictures of flowers. This captures those words and the spirit of the decorations.

Around the front, a lilac bush,
A scent beyond fair words,
And honeysuckle made a wall,
Red berries for the birds.

Now cross the driveway, up the walk,
Past iris, purple laced,
Petunias colored all aglow,
And pansies, baby-faced.

The screened-in porch is empty, though,
So check around in back,
Past tiger lilies brilliant orange,
With seeds of shining black.

Oh, here is where it really starts,
The mem'ries bright, unmarred,
The place I truly long to sit,
My Grandma's own back yard.

The back stairs ranked by hollyhocks,
To make a flow'ry maid,
Pink blossoms formed a frilly skirt,
A bud the head portrayed.

Across from there the flower bed,
With tulip colors bright,
Bold daffodils and marigolds,
And zinnias all alight.

The entry twixt my house and there,
So many times I passed,
An arch of twisting thorny stems,
With yellow roses massed.

And then there was a rocky pile,
By Grandpa's labor stacked,
All tiered around and filled with soil,
A rocky garden tract.

A place to sit and talk a while,
Amid familiar scenes,
While Grandpa made long apple peels
And Grandma snapped string beans.

If Heaven is to be a place
To hold in high regard,
It needs the flowers, bright and fair,
Like Grandma's old back yard.

Across the back a narrow strip,
Snapdragon's multihues,
Sweet Williams, bachelor buttons, too,
In white and varied blues.

And in the midst a gnarly tree,
That towered broad and strong,
Its cooling shade and rustling leaves
Sang summer's lazy song.