O’Nolia named they guess from the great
Magnolia growing by her mother’s window.
When the pain of her birthing rose and fell
The creamy blooms leaned in for comfort.

They gave mother’s eyes a place to be beyond
The dark room filled with hurt and fear. True
Or not, the name seemed to mark a destiny
That tiny child would live one far day away.

He carried mail in his beat up truck up and
Down each narrow road on his route, did
So for thirty years right out of the army.
Pensioned off, his hands coaxed earth’s bounty.

Three kids grew up in that house, the boys
Raised hell two days till Sunday while the girl
Found herself maidened for life, tied to home
Clerked for REA, went to church, did good.

Tommy loved the promise of blooming things
Bulbs, strawberries, pears or peaches. Dot
Craved rose petals, tulip cups and lily splendor.
Nollie loved it all. So grew a wonderland about them.

Garden clubs came to see varieties rare and precious,
Neighbors took cuttings to try and mostly failed.
Church altars from miles around often graced by
Hydrangea, peony, marigold and zinnia,

One by one we lost them and drive today past
An empty space once the most beautiful spot
Gracing the old Macadam road just two houses
Past the turn off, not far from the stone quarry.

Does the earth miss the berries, blooms and buds?
Is there somewhere deep under the grass memory
Of a wife named for a tree, a man who loved flowers
And sweet Dorothy who spent her life for others?