Written for Diane Hofstede, an only child.
The gardener looked quite puzzled while surveying flowery bed.
The toil endured from daybreak prompted, “There’s no blossoms here”, he said.
Suddenly one flower unfolded. All alone, its captured scent sprayed its mist,
the sweetest fragrance, a glorious aroma as it went.
Though it seemed alone in number, it declared a message strong:
Where there’s one, the growth is present as it hums its floral song.
At first glance the ground seemed empty; no real hope upon the scene,
but the bud reveals the future – precious transplant so serene.
Here the flower stands like a statue, with a focus on its hue.
Flourishing, transcending landscape in this garden reflecting pool.
Let no contrary voice be uttered in the value of this grace,
for true richness coats each petal of the flower of her face.
Everywhere the flower is planted, blossoms sprout in those around.
Single floral bouquet sonnet sets a table where she’s found.
Still the garden blooms in full view, while it moves within her will.
There the flower looms much larger than the garden on the hill.