| July/August 1974

The cruel winds now flow
And drive the sharp snow
Through the stalks that border our lawn;
For a pityless cold
Has stiffened the mold
And all of the flowers are gone.

The cruel hand of death
Has stifled the breath
Of the one who planted them there;
For a pityless fate
Has stolen my mate
And all that is lovely and fair.

In the spring of my life
My darling young wife
Had planted each flower with love,
That their beauty might be
For her children and me
As a blessing from heaven above.

Then hand in hand
In summer we'd stand
To share the joy in their ways,
For loving and growing
As well as the sowing
Was always a part of her days.

For Church friend or Granger
For her own or a stranger
She tried to plant only the good.
And her love, like the sun
Brought growth to each one
Loving warmth was ever her mood.

When cold days were here
The dull time of year
And winter winds sang a sad song,
She had faith that God's might
Had made everything right
And her flowers would soon come along.


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