In the center of the garden
stood a beautiful snowball tree.
It conducted all the flowers
when it had been pruned by Me.
She asked that I return
to clip, rearrange the bouquet-
and pluck the weeds which might creep
to our rose bed one day.
The violets made a band
of purple trumpets sound.
The tulips were the orchestra
in the pit - down on the ground.
I knew the storm would come
when mums would sway or bend.
I felt there'd be no better time
to guard them from the wind.
Then I dashed home only to find
why I ought to come back soon.
For the message did resound
throughout every empty room.
When I entered the Garden
not one note was played for me.
I found to my chagrin --- Someone Else
had pruned my snowball tree!!!
Del Cano 1976 May
