a poem by William Willis, Scotland

The Fragrance Of Virtue Rises To The Heavens

He tended his garden, twas his life and his soul.
Green fingers with wisdom, like rich veins of coal.
This picturesque garden, he shared with his wife.
Expansion of colour till the end of his life.

Concentration abound,he could nurture a seed.
Fuchsia's, red roses, no sign of a weed.
Glass house of tomatoes in cardinal red.
Still blooming, two years now after his death.

His plants were his passion, with diligence he'd graft.
Outrageous explosions of colour he'd craft.
His seat sits alone, 'neath the wall by the tree.
We know he's still with us, feel his breath in the breeze.

He left us his garden, i knew we'd been blessed.
So generous in life, (so generous in death.)
A book of instruction, of word and in picture.
His memory, we'll keep in this permanent fixture.

Preserving his pride, we primed and we pruned.
We'll make sure his flowers, stay all in full bloom.
The rules in his book, like the rules in his life.
With patience and love, these rules we'll abide.

This emerald green garden, fertility sustained.
My Granda's explosion of colour still reins.
Cathedral's of colours like star spangled ribbons
His fragrance of virtue, rises up to the heavens.

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