The garden of Mama always
Bristles with blooms;
She loves her garden if her child,
Grows it and grooms.
No splendour of colors or
Show of lights
Can match her garden's
Floral delights.
Beauteously do bloom flowers
Blue, red, yellow;
Cheerfully they drift on
Gentle and slow.
Together they play ever,
In full rapture;
Happily they feed bees and
Butterflies on nectar.
Hate not, spite not, greed not,
No lies or anger;
In truth, peace, love and bliss,
They bloom forever.
Comes summer ruthless,
But they do bloom,
They do bloom through storms
Of hardest doom.
With blooms of her own smile,
And heart and soul,
Mama marvels at her garden
As blooms it beautiful.
She sees the garden of blooms
As immortal,
And weeps a lot when drops
A plant or petal.
Mama in the garden, herself
Turns a flower;
"May she forever bloom happy!",
I do pray for her.
- N P SAMAL
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