My garden glades ‘pon simple steppe
Where grass and stone unite,
O’ersees and proctors Summer’s light
Like a promise kept.
A distant remote oasis,
Far side of grassy sea,
A secret from Humanity?
What cruel fate is this?
But Lilies of this garden grow
In pageantry of red
Where much to see is left unsaid,
For who would e’er know?
An island to themselves they stay,
Blooms reaching Heavenward;
Unrivaled brilliance flames absurd!
Yet who would e’er say?
But Lilies live for bird and bees
Not for Man’s said pleasure;
Legacy is their true measure,
Caring not who sees.
These foolish thoughts I often build
Lays better judgement bared.
Man is not, by Nature, cared-
She cannot be willed!
I struggle with these final words
Drawn from simple knowledge:
O’ modest reason, I do pledge!
Ne’er my hand disturbs!
So, grow my Lilies, mark your place
In truest mind and sake.
My heart pines for the joy you make
T’mend this wretch’s waste!