Waiting in the Garden

Her voice begins to tremble Her eyes fill up with tears; It seems like only yesterday In fact, it’s forty years.
She slowly turns the pages Of an album waiting there; Her face is filled with memories And pain that’s hard to bear.
Her mind begins to wander Back to the place in time; Where once he called her Mommy When she was in her prime.
Her face begins to soften Lines of time are gone away; She’s twenty and she’s young again It’s spring again that day.

She’s walking down a country road Her son is by her side; He asks a hundred questions And— She doesn’t even mind.
She guides him to a garden Lovely flowers growing there; She tells him of the Lord above And of His tender care.
They sit and listen to the sounds Of birds up in the air; He puts his little hand in hers It’s peaceful sitting there.
The day is done, it’s time to leave Her voice is sweetly low; She takes his little trusting hand They turn around to go.

She tucks her little angel Into his bed that night; They pray the Lord, his soul to keep Her hand turns off the light.
He grew into a handsome man And was her pride and joy; But deep inside his mothers heart He’s still her little boy.
She looks up from the pictures A tear drops on the page; She’s seventy, not twenty And— Her face begins to age.
“God took him to the garden Where we sat so long ago; I know he’s waiting for me The good Lord told me so.”
All I have are pictures And one ‘specially in my heart; We’re sitting in the garden And— We’ll never be apart.
Maria Lindberg Copyright 2001

Written for my Mother: Doris Boutwell Viita In memory of my brother: Norman Dewitt Viita It was read at her funeral on December 5,1999 I hope they’ll both be "Waiting in the Garden" For me someday…I miss you Momma...More than words can say... Love ~~Maria~~