Amidst the bloom of the poppy and rose, Where fragrances mingle in sweet summer air, I trace the paths of enchantment and dreams, That drift with the sigh of the soft, tender flare.
The garden speaks softly in colors so bright, With nature’s brush painting all that I see, In the tapestry woven of petals and dew, I find the reflection of what’s truly free.
- Anna Akhmatova