This was my Dad’s garden, too many years ago to count and yet,
the memory of it is as sharp as if I had seen it yesterday. My father
loved carnations. Carnations and chrysanthemums, the great,
shaggy headed, curled-over petalled flowers, which were almost
glints of architecture in amongst the more gentle flowers. These
two flowers have kept pace with me all during my life, always
bringing back that which I thought had gone.
THE SCENT OF CLOVES
The garden was full of carnations
Standing in elegant rows like delicate soldiers,
Or curling up together
In friendly circles,
Their silvery green leaves
Supporting each other.
That spicy sharpness of cloves,
That remembered scent of carnations
Filled the air,
Making me dream of other lives
Lived by fabulous people,
Which, one day, I would discover for myself.
But I never did.
For my own life elbowed those dreams
Out of the way
And gave me carnations.
© GWEN GRANT
Available in Kindle Books and Smashwords.
With carnations and chrysanthemums, you got the better bargain.
The smell of chrysanthemums always has me remembering clearing the autumn garden and piling the dead and dying on the bonfire, ready for November 5th.
I remember doing that, too! My Dad was a scrupulous gardener, obviously the same as someone in your family.
Thanks for your comment and hope you liked the poem.
Gwen.
Any poem about flowers has my immediate attention Gwen. A lovely delicate poem!
Thank you,
Sharon 💐
Thank you, Sharon. Glad you liked it. These flowers bring back memories of my Dad and his garden the moment I see them!
He never liked us picking them, though!
Gwen.
Lovely! I have these same recollections of my mother’s garden.
Heart to you.
Gwen.