The flowers still bloom

Where they were planted – years before

Her green thumbprint all over

Garden of Eden in urban wasteland

Her calloused hands are tired

Unable for the digging of the earth

The tackling of bramble and brush

She is confined to house and home

Yet – when the sun comes

Clouds lift, unveiling her children

Watcher from the window

Mother of all beauty in nature

A rose tree ascends to heaven

Grown of her blood, her sweat

Flowering year after year

Something living – after life