A man gets lost in a rose garden
A lady is there, take care of everything
As a bee that flies between the petals
As a butterfly that lands
As contested nectar
Flowers offer beauty
A man gets lost and doesn't come back
A lady will be taken away
The garden that was once beautiful
is now growing thick and wild,
even more beautiful than before
The nature takes care of what humans cannot care for or neglect
And the bees and butterflies rejoice

She have never been into things such as growing a garden, they say her potential will have to be reached by a streak of light draping through the window pane.

she builds her greenhouse and collected some seeds, she doesn't sort if she'll grew by season or if it's a monstrous plant— she just want to see a lot of butterflies that she have never seen before.

she remain unimpressed, seeing a hues full of periwinkle and blues, roses and thorns decorated beautifully by her fragile hands, you can see on her plain tone the visible traces of paper cuts and ink blotch.

one day, a boy visited her garden, he grew fond and perpetrated on every flower she had. they sat on an empty, unfurnished room, filled with his paintings and brushes, not seem to notice the one uncleaned palette she used and left forgotten. She watched the boy as he paints, as if he knew every detail of his magic, it reminds her of the days she spent the same way, on how she loves it, tenderly in her heart— she said he was a stray butterfly, everything on him is luminous.

they spent their time there, little did the boy knew that she loves everything he had done on the garden. She wonders how a little misadventures were found in a wild wood.

The colour pops.
I love the contrast with the dark flecks
and the extended black seams.
The drape of the paler tails adds
to the sense of elongated stature.
And the weight feels just right in my hand.
Let's see if the next carrot is just as good.

Into mellow fields, all manner of beings go.
The bird to gather bug or seed,
The workers with their hoes;
And, maidens who gather stands of wheat
In dresses that are blown.

Toward the end of it all
my knackered earth beds
sit dishevelled
like a mother’s rushed haircut

tufts of the next growth
brace for another brown-grey winter
while the last redcurrants hide,
blood dark rubies
tucked in dying leaves of neighbour bushes

in the middle, the supermarket spruce
of three years ago
waits its turn
growing done in the throng of all
while the sun played favourites

soon, in the cat pad darks
the ground will be given back to rule,
cold, empty and silent

There is one on some loves,
That flourish like summer flowers
And bring seemingly endless joy
To lovers entwined
And hypnotized by the notion
That this will bloom forever.
But as years pass, some flawless
In execution and mutual care,
The flower begins to fade,
As if its color and fluid are drained,
Perhaps by the force of love itself.
And, unknown to the two,
They glide apart slowly,
Like two ships on the tide,
Until one day, they reach a horizon.
Each looks out for the other
As they have done before,
And call out in hope, then despair,
But they are unseen, far away.
They may try to sail back,
Beating furiously against the tide,
And finally, admitting defeat.
They each collapse, crying, shouting,
Blaming life, fate and humanity.
After months spent on the rocky shore,
In tears or questioning why
And often getting no reply,
The memory of passion fades
As new flowers bloom
And life’s garden summers on.

Dug up an earthworm
the longest I've ever seen
while paving a garden path
to make my home look clean.

Thought it wouldn't suit the worm
to be trapped under so much rock,
so I tossed him over to my neighbour
who has lots of lawn around his block.

Hoped the worm would appreciate
that my strategy has saved his day,
when a crow came swooping down,
picked him up and flew away.