Beside My Garden Gate...

My garden blooms with roses rare

And trees where nestlings mate

In early spring when soft winds sigh

Around my garden gate.

A rustic seat is hidden where

Both joys and sorrows wait

Where trumpet vine and daffodils

Bloom round my garden gate.

When woes beset on every hand

And sorrow seems my fate

I grab my hat and spend an hour

Beside my garden gate.

I bid my troubles all adieu

Until a later date

And find a peaceful haven there

Beside my garden gate.

A poem by Blanche Elder Crispin, from her book “Drifting Sands”