Hidden Tears

She did not cry perhaps that was the odd thing.

I saw the two soldiers at her front door

one with a chaplain’s uniform

Her son was on active duty I knew at once

what the bad news would be.

I remember It was late springtime

and all through the days that year

I could see her working nonstop in her garden.

Trimming transplanting weeding.

until the evening light faded

I have never seen such an abundance of beauty

Flowers and shrubs 

a complete carpet of fragrant bloom

The snipping of her pruning shears never ceasing

like a cicada in August.

Lantern shaped blossoms hung down

from the flowering trees

like the tears