There's something sweet that moves the garden air,
It fills my chest with embers of the sun.
The morning dew clings light as starlit hair,
Upon my face their luster softly spun.
And yet I know the comfort of these hues
That once had led me down to kneel and sow.
The darkened groves beneath the wistful yews
Have loosed me to the place where gardens grow,
Where you, so sweet, compel my voice to sing
With birds that soar along your tower's ledge;
They've carried you within their loving wings,
And clothed your heart with flowers of the hedge.
Beneath the stars my serenade begins,
For you whose roses kissed soft summer skin.
Nov 28, 2025
Nov 28, 2025 at 6:10 PM UTC
There's something sweet that moves the garden air,
It fills my chest with embers of the sun.
The morning dew clings light as starlit hair,
Upon my face their luster softly spun.
And yet I know the comfort of these hues
That once had led me down to kneel and sow.
The darkened groves beneath the wistful yews
Have loosed me to the place where gardens grow,
Where you, so sweet, compel my voice to sing
With birds that soar along your tower's ledge;
They've carried you within their loving wings,
And clothed your heart with flowers of the hedge.
Beneath the stars my serenade begins,
For you whose roses kissed soft summer skin.
