She loves her cat and her rustic garden;
Her green thumb is a plus for growing things;
A walk in the garden gives her free pardon,
For all those people who have done her wrong;
Such inner thoughts, give her the eagle's wings
To soar amid the clouds among the throng.
She misses her Christmas spent in the snow;
She sighs, this tropical place is boring;
Cane arrows and wild flowers are on show;
In her dreams she sees winter wonderland,
Where the snow drips on things like cake frosting,
A snowy Christmas is ever so grand.
This idea nurtured in her dreamy head;
Atlas! A twig planted not a seed;
Her plan was enacted nine months ahead;
As she watched her spurge grow in the sunlight,
In mum's garden she stood near her ghost weed;
A blooming white Christmas would be all right.
Strolling in mum's garden on Christmas morn,
A beautiful sight caught her by surprise;
On her euphorbiaceae not a torn,
But a crown of wee white flowers appears
During a torrid Christmas caught her eyes;
Like snow on the mountain, that name it bears.
© Paterika Hengreaves