The Garden

Honeysuckle blossoms whisper sweet lies while firefly pixies tipsy on nectar eavesdrop.

Trnslucent orbs of dew cling to the petals of roses and blades of lush grass hoping to steal the reflection

of every beautiful thing for themselves... Success is but temporary.

Ceramic elves come to life and dance in the fountains regaining their youth.

The once seemingly motionless turtle yawns and stretches his legs perfectly balancing the flowerpot on his shell.

A flaboyantly painted frog leaps about gracefully celebrating the night.

Windchime butterflies are freed to browse among the Moonflowers and Sunsprites kissing each sweetly before

moving on... Mister Lincolns perfume the air in jealous protest as Royal Highnesses present themselves

for adoration.

As the night retires to its heavenly quarters in shades of blue and grey, the elves busily gather fireflies in their hats.

The flamboyantly painted frog resumes her positon at the head of the walking path as the regal turtle settles in

at his post beside the fountain.

The butterflies float silently back to the glittering windchimes.

Their secret kept...


This poem is about: 
Our world


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