For the past three years I have been very honoured to help a lovely plants woman called Mrs Roberts tend to her amazing garden, a very private lady with brilliant tales to tell.
The garden is packed to the hilt with all beautiful plants, trees, shrubs and bulbs. We shared gossip and tea and chocolate, both prefering to be outside rather than in.
Sadly Mrs Roberts passed away in her garden a few weeks ago, and today was her funeral. We talked about death and Mrs Roberts requested that I made a wreath for her with flowers from her garden when the time came. She was so lively, still buying new plum and pear trees just a few years ago despite being in her 90's. We laughed saying she might be making a wreath for me instead as she had more energy.
The funeral was beautiful (and I normally don't like funerals).We were asked to pick rose petals from a bowl and scatter them on the coffin, she would have loved that I know.
This poem was read out which I thought was also very fitting.
Day's End
The twilight comes to cool the air, The shadows lengthen on the sod, Soft breezes blow the garden through, The leaves and blossoms sway and nod.
On garden path, in sheltering hedge, In treetops dark and cloudless sky, The evening birds awake to life, To stir; to sing and upward fly. And flowers, warm with summer heat, Expand to greet the softened light And shed, to show their gratitude, A fragrance in the summer night. Now all is peace. From meadows near A cooling mist blows o'er the wall And strangely lonesome in the night There comes the thrush's silvery call. -EDWIN W. PROCTOR
Goodbye Mrs Roberts I will miss you, I hope you are somewhere beautiful tending to a garden.
