Love Blooms Poem by Holly Pearce

Mrs Penny, She was a florist see,
And lived in Colchester,
Her garden was the epitome of gods artistic hand,
But her house lack lustre.

A bouquet of all possessions of beauty,
Her spirit enthralled with gold,
Her bonnet consecrated with Sundays blessing,
And her heart loving nor old.

A small field given to the roses,
Her betrothed gave each day,
An ashen rose long forgotten lying upon the sideboard
With dear god he shall stay.

Her wrath of unfamiliar pain seizure,
Her garden flourished nor bloomed,
Her passion that she cherished was stricken with vile,
Her alike exposed to gloom,

Mrs Penny, She was all alone now,
And lived on deaths front door,
Her spirit returning to the all powerful almighty,
But her life was farer shore.