By Anne Brison
Come enter through the garden gate,
And see the beauty that does await.
Stoop beneath the climbing rose vine,
And sweep past clusters of columbine.
Watch the golden swaying Aspen,
In the shadowy garden glen.
And watch as the dragonfly swoops and darts,
Among the blood red bleeding hearts.
Then stop a while and admire,
The crape myrtles very sweet attire.
Then look until you find the whereabouts,
Of the golden bright sunny knockouts.
Watch The Fragrant Cloud red rose,
Brings sweet delight to your very nose.
Walk until you find yourself amides,
Bright and beautiful dainty orchids.
And watch the dainty roses blush,
In their pinkish-white silken flush.
And gaze in wonder so very awesome,
At rows of cherry tree blossoms.
And as you return to the garden gate you pluck a pink carnation,
And as you come out,
Without a doubt ,
That there isn’t a more beautiful place,
In all its lovely splendid grace.
2 thoughts on “The Garden”
Well done, John!
Beautiful picture painted in words.