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
Copyright © Ryan Boza | Year Posted 2015
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