What we called my dad’s mother: Mom-Mom
Had to visit, to see, to smell and peruse the rows 

Of lovely pristine lavender, proudly blooming
As busy bumble bees inject their long tongues 

To extract nectar spreading pollen with their
Legs bloom to bloom, flitting ferociously

Witnessed white cabbage butterflies
Fluttering about with faint black spots

On their tips too quick for my camera
Inside a gazebo a group of guitars, banjo

Bass and singers lulled me with bluegrass
A dad of the banjo and guitar sat next to me

Asked, “How do you like the band?”
Proud dad extolled his sons’

Musical journey he facilitated for 
Them to shine as his face shone

As they sang “Where is my mom?”
Tears welled in my eyes.

This epic day before Father’s Day.