My paternal grandfather was a superb gardener. He developed hybrids of roses at his home in Whittier, California and for the Burbanks, after whom the city of Burbank was named. Here is one of his poems:
The Garden Gate Was Open
The garden gate was open
While busy with its care,
And someone must have entered
When I was unaware.
It may have been a stranger
Or someone come to call,
I hope they saw the tulips
Beneath the garden wall.
Maybe the guest will linger
And see the newest rose,
See all the delphiniums
And just before he goes
See the dancing daffodils
And hear the linnet sing-
But O that gate so wide
Was no one else by Spring.
Paul Judson Linsley
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