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,
but as I bite the product of my own hard work,
I realize this is MY perfect garden.