Saturday, November 6, 2010

The Garden

She is my child's flower...
in his secret garden,
in a world of their own making...
where the ogres are time,
and the boogeyman is life.
Where fairies dance by starlight,
and fireflies are their lanterns.
She grows wild,
in the dark side of the forest,
small and quiet in her beauty,
intense and full of magic,
casting her mystery in a moonlight dance,
a wanderer in a world not quite ready for her.
She is just beginning...
a delicate bud, yet to bloom...
a sweet fragrant Rose in his eyes,
in all her Summer splendor.
He tends to her,
and takes great care to keep the weeds away,
lest they smother her and crush her spirit.
Her sun is the words of beauty that spill from his mouth,
when he whispers to her his childhood secrets.
Her water is the tears he cries as they part,
vowing to meet again in fields of promises and daydreams.
He is a faithful gardener,
day and night he tends to her.
An overlooked beauty,
rare is their love.
Innocent and soulful,
she is my baby's "baby",
and I wonder at the magic she possesses to captivate my child so.
Brilliant and breathtaking is their view of the world,
artist and muse in equal exchange.
A sonata of even harmony.

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