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My Grandfather, The GardenerMy grandfather, the gardener Toils most of the day away, He stands back smiling At his beautiful display. Hummingbirds flutter around Tall tiger lilies, Bumblebees suckle nectar from roses The grandchildren act so silly. Flowers of all kinds Grow in my grandfather's garden, He wipes the sweat from his brow Whistles, as he picks a rose, for his woman. Copyright Cynthia Jones Sept.7/2006 My grandfather, was a well known gardener at the Algonquin Hotel in St. Andrews, New Brunswick, Canada, as well as his own gardens at home. He retired. The gardens at his home, had to be left unattended after a while, as he suffered a few silent heart attacks. I miss my grandfather's gardens. Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
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