Poets of old sang of a garden so beautiful Even time stops there to stand and stare Its crystal springs will invigorate souls Its fruits of nectar will sensually soothe Its shades will induce a blissful sleep Its flowers bloom to an infinite hue
To find this elusive garden so beautiful A treacherous trek one must undertake On unmarked trails and crumpling bridges With blistered soles and grumbling stomachs Short-cuts there are, but who knows to where For no one's come back or reached the other end
Trek past meadows, valleys, fiords and peaks Their beauty will compel you to stand and stare The trees will call you to their fruits and shade Tired limbs will beg you to rest and rejuvenate So tarry a while, to enjoy the fruits and views But tarry too long and you'll forget the way...
To that Garden ever so beautiful
Life is a poor imitation of reality Poem dedicated to 'Born' --x--