The espresso shot to her grey cells
and Granny rocked herself to tales
when she were a beautiful lass,
disturbing not the Canary pecking
at the grains on her sinistral, resting.

Every onset of autumn was awaited
for the pleasant surprise to arrive;
a couple of varied saplings on her birthdate
to be nurtured for it to thrive
as their forefathers helped as nutriment.

Two and two and two now was a century
and more. Faunae popped in for florae visits, from bee
to birds, all made her to leave behind desolation.
Aster reaped what she had sowed through years
Mother Nature had given back her shares.

Aster lived to her beloved parents
with these familiar aromas and
melodic notes; uniting with bygone moments.
She played with her grey hair strand
while staring at the garden’s bloom of youth.

.   .   .