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Orchids
The garden replaced the swimming pool. His garden.
It stretched from the front yard to the back,
the groups of flower pots purposefully arranged into ornate rows.
His hands,
coarse
from gingerly potting and nurturing each plant
to perfection.
Flourishing,
from his love.
He forgot many things,
but he never forgot
to cherish his garden.
She used to miss the pool,
not anymore.
Admiringly,
she peered through the large glass windows of the sun room,
eyes fixated on the vivid colors of the flora
dancing from pot to pot.
As she swung on the plush hanging chair
where he had once sat,
she reminisced.
With every glance at
the daffodils,
peonies,
hydrangeas,
and orchids,
she could feel his presence.
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This poem is inspired by my late grandfather and his love for his garden. He had developed Alzheimer's and while his memory was fading, his devotion to his garden remained steadfast. As a child, I had always enjoyed swimming in the pool in the yard. But as my grandfather's health deteriorated, the pool was filled up as a safety measure and became an integral part of his garden.