The rosemary had a gap and a large hole
A blackbird made a nest there  where it sang
Startled people passing asked, who rang?
If I knew, I never would have told.

This gracious shrub was old and very wide
It made a home for snails against the wall
Near where  blackbirds busily might call
Yet wrongly pruned,eventually it died

One must not prune a bush into the wood
This plant is tender like the inside wrist
Where wanton lovers avidly do kiss
Thinking  they are  flagrant in their  good

Later we had placed a  beech  bonsai
Small and frail behind the red brick wall
Where the blackbird sang in Spring and Fall
Now the tree’s as tall as any lie

Small its leaves yet mighty is its heart
It pushes half the hedge off at a slant
Where the prickles fill with antic ants.
Hot the sun on leaves  that know no chart

Here the metal gate is open wide
The path is level but with spirit none
My heart is in the case with him who’s gone
I carry all my shopping bags inside

On the shelf, a little wooden tray
A butter dish perhaps or a cheese board
Too small for  any man who was a Lord
Here he left his  gold at end of day

One sad day, the picture on the wall
Changed from The Three Bears to Waterfalls
A  three arched bridge across a river blue
A cataract, a grave. a sailing crew.

For little children have a world their own
The symbols are constructed as are poems
Bears play a large part in infants’ lives
Their comforters, their babies, their right guides

Would it occur to me  that Mam and Dad
Had no interest in a bear fur clad?
What was me must surely still be them-
United in our love till kingdom come.

I saw the picture  shift and change its guise
With these blue coloured orbs that are my eyes

As winter sun  expands the length of days
And afternoons grow longer with its light
The  little bulbs are  flowering like a prayer

Snowdrops small and fragile ever gave
Their beauty and their presence to our sight
As winter sun  expands the length of days

But, discontented, we demand much more
As if controlling nature is our right
As  little bulbs are  flowering like a prayer,

If we heard them speak, what would we hear?
Complaints about the trees that rage incite
As winter sun  expands the length of days

Do such tender plants  live in great fear
That cats and mice may  snatch a greedy bite
While   the bulbs are  flowering like a prayer?

All of nature eats  with  ripe delight
And  then is eaten by a satellite
As winter sun  expands the length of days
The  little bulbs are  flowering like a prayer

https://www.writermag.com/2016/02/29/14969/