Count Bolivars Garden

„Wherever you are!“ cried Count Bolivar
Don’t fuck up my plants, just give them a chance!

And he raged and howled and brandished a fist
And he angrily danced gainst the winter storm
The twigs and boughs slashed into his wrists
As he advanced in the sylvan darkness forlorn 

„Why are you so cruel?!“ he bellowed - the fool
The wind wouldn't hear his weak supply
It's blind force just made to multiply
„Don’t destroy my plants, take me first, if you can!“

Instant Counts breath in the embroils was lost 
he in a fierce gush of air was tossed

The indomitable proud old Bolivar 
Bearded and grey, had taken to war
A war that he could but lose with pride
the elements had taken against his side

                                ***

Count Bolivar was really dead
There was no doubt about it
In life’s storm he’d lost his head
And couldn't go on without it

Why! Else he might well have returned
no bidding he’d have needed
the heavenly music he'd have spurned 
And the angels advice not heeded

But now marooned in paradise
He had to be their guest
Was well behaved and jolly nice
He really did his best