Gardener and the Meadow

To it to me, it would never wilt not even through the drips of sand, or the ravines of strangling weed So ripe thy pretty rose is, with those red velvet lips and tender bosom to grasp Sweet is the coarse of her rhyme, roots yet unfurled but infinite they'll be in time Planter in love with the beautiful growth, he was earth and she was meadow Twine lock hair does do tangle, daisy anew the meadow's new ramble Just as seeds earth does grow, the planter's honey dew sour and no moon to show Still so prime is she thy rose, the Gardner’s love unrelenting but other roots dug deep he knew he lost the gamble Of no mention the earth will give, light shine on him for his burden and sins, all must be tucked, can he ever live? Thorn on every mold such a beauty to behold, never scratched or cut, the planter still has the golden green glow It flickers and flicks, the meadow weeds and whips, and so the earth loses some of its fertilizer Does it die, the gardener's pretty velvet flower? The meadow is raised and so to she has questions, not of nicks and pricks but of daisy left strung He thought he planted her right, away from weed and other life, yet off she grew To something old not anew Is it a bird or divine buzz? No, just fate as it's round just as earth and its bounds