In the Garden

The garden lies in semblance, rich, serene, A canvas painted by the hand of time; With flowers bright that dance in golden sheen, And kiss the morning’s light—a sweet sublime.

The roses bend with dew, their fragrance sings, While violets hide in shadows soft, and shy; A symphony of colors, life it brings, As nature whispers love to every sigh.

The buzzing bee, with labor ever true, Doth dance from bloom to bloom—a tireless flight, In every creature’s path, the sweetness grew, The joys of life combined, take heavenly height.

Oh, let me to this garden come again, Where every petal speaks and leaves no pain.

• Constance Fennell