At night, white roses glow as bright as the moon
and as round.
They curtsey in the breeze, necks dipping.
Underfoot, pea flowers explode across the dirt,
imitating the scattered stars above.
In darkness, the most vibrant grass is deepened
to a celestial backdrop.
In this garden I can’t help but think
the moon must be a narcissist,
looking nightly down upon
her mirrored sphere --
Ah, how beautiful I am!