Elegy for Joan

A violet whispered to a rose, “I have a tale to tell,

pass it on to all you know, make sure you tell it well.

See that it is carried, from twig, to tree, to petal,

this tale shall travel miles afar until it’s time to settle.”

A Lily of the Valley drooped its lovely head,

a mist of sadness filled its eyes; our Joan Maureen was dead.

A Gladiolus looked above, it beckoned to a bird,

“Please bide a while and hear our tale — make sure that it is heard.”

“We knew her as a babe,” a Flowering Currant told,

“We saw she was a lovely lass, never one bit bold.”

“She loved to see the early spring, with daffodils galore

the garden was a place she knew and always would adore.

The bird flew north with heavy heart, it had to spread the word,

that Joan would not be coming home, and this her flowers heard.

An orchid touched a fern in grief, “However can this be?”

Geraniums wept, their hearts were broke, the bird looked from his tree.

A fern looked up and told the bird, “We’ve known her many years,

she cared for us with gentle hands,” the fern said through its tears.

The bird told all who gathered, the story of Joan’s passing,