Perfect Garden
Strolling down the old, gray, cobblestone path, encircled by soft shade,
Golden plumes enhanced by indigo and violet are visible as light fades.
The emerald and clover leaves of willows weep, drooping from limbs overhead,
bubbling, trickling, water is audible from a nearby creek bed.
Freesia, Lavender, and sweet honeysuckle scents hang in the air.
Succulent, juicy, and tempting ripe fruit hang everywhere.
Desiring a taste, I clutch a shimmering, burgundy plum,
I lose myself in the decadence of its flesh on my tongue.
Suddenly, a soft, gentle breeze teases my hair, tickling my skin,
Alas, I awaken, to pull on my overalls, and head outside and begin,
It’s not as perfect as what my dreams held within,
not as fragrant, shady, or filled to the brim,
but as I bite the product of my own hard work again,
I realize it’s MY perfect garden.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
