A Song of Her Garden

She builds her pleasant garden
Where the winds are not so strong
The sun sometimes relenting
Becomes her companion

The garden spreads its arms to her
Thick shoulders, fragile hands
The creepers and the vines that bear
Her flowers from many lands

There is shade upon her shadow
And a path of leaves and stones
That were inlaid imperceptibly
Through years of life alone

There's a trickle of river water
Breaking on a precipice
An ornately painted corner
Where she sees the light of bliss

Papaya trees and lemon trees
That the hurricanes forgot
The garden is her mirror
It reflects her, then does not

Wind chimes in the moonlight
Songbirds awake till dawn
She cultivates the seasons,
Leaves the garden to be born.

poem by Frank Bana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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