The Garden

In gardens where the flowers grow,
And fragrance of the earth does rise,
The winds, they softly stir, and blow
And voice desires to the skies.

Fair spring, how dost thou come so light,
To deck the paths with colors bright,
With nature’s beauty, ever rife,
Where sweetest joys and blooms are rife.

Nay, scent each rose and every leaf;
Feel how the air holds spirit dear;
A place for solace, let grief cease,
In this good soil, we see heaven near.

• John Davies