Wednesday, July 2, 2014

The Poet’s Garden

(…Or, God’s Perfect Nature)

Many flowers gently rest
Within my garden, fair!
I know not their kinds or names—
But the China rose, is there.

Fleetly these flowers,
They come and go, —
Brief their little lives;
The China rose, has but a day—
To the sorrow of human eyes.

And so their blooms must depart,
Once allowing man to be nurtured—
Like a fragrance to the heart;
By God’s perfect nature!

No: 4423 (Written: 6-30-2014)