My soul’s a splendid garden
Where I may choose to roam
Through thicket-brush so hardened
As to blend in with the stone;
Or through canopies of endless trees
That cast out dappled shade –
Beneath the thickest clouds of leaves
Is where its best to play.
There’s a herb box at the centre
And a bird-bath broken down,
A path beneath the hedges
Where I can squirm around;
Grate myself up thorny stems wherever they may grow
In the hopes that when I reach the top I might just find a rose.
© Joleen