Willow in the Rose Garden

for Willow

You race through the house
and take a map,
wrap it excitedly in and out
of its folded square.
A rush of chatter fills the air
of all that we might do,
and where.

First, I know you cannot resist
the sloping lawns,
that stretch
and beckon for you to roll.
But I need a moment to breathe,
my head to find a little peace
amid the summer buzz of bees,
and too much news on the tv.

So, I skip, and break into a run
knowing you will come,
toy bunny dangling
on the ground,
and stray petals
strewn around,
blown by the breeze,
or plucked by little hands,
like yours.

The roses greet us,
a flush of colour.
Hues of orange and pink
invite us to sink our noses in
to blousy blooms soft as powder.
All the while
your sister toddles behind,
distracted by small wonders she finds,
and the smiles
they bring.

I pause to take in
this moment we share,
before Daddy sweeps us away
to peek at the pears
growing in the secret garden.
To see if they are ripe, and
wonder if someone might
notice if we plucked our own
and took it home.
The four of us, together.

By Ceri Teggin

poetry Image: