My Garden Hue

My wilted garden, how slow you grow,

Rotten, frozen in a spring time row.

Whistle with the colding wind, and reach so brisk.

As water grows your roots, with a tender fist.

Reach up for the sky, at angles of the old,

Stretch with open bloom, like nature has fortold.

My beauty hence, my flowers blue,

To each eyes passing it does construe.

And leaves the mouth of a dryer taste,

As my wilted Garden, grows in haste.

Spread your colors, true and proud,

For many days grey of cloud.

And when it storms, surpass the debt,

Drinking water as the insects sleep.

And petals of your fine divine.

Silent beauty oh steep decline.

Then the day the storms all pass,

And witherness is in your past.

Your leafy green, of emerald hue,

My blossomed garden, me and you.

© Now rhyme