Gardens Do

Flowers yellow, pink and blue,
Low ones, high ones, bright of hue,
Surround the chair I’m sitting on
With light of ever-loving dawn.

Some waft odors melon sweet,
Little maids whose eyes repeat
The passing hours laughing by
Underneath a handsome sky.

Some—the tall ones—lovely sway,
Ballerinas prancing gay,
Playing with the flies and bees
Who try to cut in on the breeze.

Hundred blossoms all about
Round my chair lift quiet shout,
Shout of joy the whole day long,
Shout of lovely life so strong.

All these yellows, pinks and blues
Fill my mind with their good news,
Silent words of wisdom true:
Gardens are what gardens do.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Gardens Do

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s