Your spirit is not here,
asleep beneath the stone,
Constrained within this obelisk --
fence-bound, silent, dark and still;
These are but thy bones that rest.
Nor are you bound by brick
nor glass nor architected wood --
Thy house is a reflection,
-- a lantern, not a tomb --
Of the warm illumination of thy heart.
You live yet
In the hollyhocks and pinks,
nasturtiums, chamomile and thyme,
Green and new and surprising
in the sea-kale and the spinach,
Vigorous and live
nourishing your children
Body, Mind and Soul.
Still you speak, the work endures, the garden grows --
A legacy of life.