Someone has said that all you need
Is a library and a garden
In order to harden
Yourself against life, or so I read.
My library is stuffed with tomes so full
My wife has vowed
I'm not allowed
To give in to another book's literary pull.
But out in the garden I'm my own man
For she won't step outside
To even decide
On a flower bed, bush or a patio plan.
Out there in the garden of perfume and hues
Honeysuckle and roses
Tickle our noses
In as religious an experience as pulpits and pews.
Pungent tomatoes and the pale scent of string beans,
Yellow squash blossoms
And marigold awesomes
Twist scents and senses into imaginary scenes
Where tall okra and hollyhocks are kings and queens
And only peasants of history
Are allowed to be sensory
In a land where only noses will know what it means.
by E. Marshall Evans