once upon a time

THE HANGING GARDEN

THE HANGING GARDEN

It feigns sleep, undisturbed by anyone.
All winter long lying peaceful, serene.
Through cold and frost it slumbers
.
Nothing moves above the ground.
Meanwhile beneath the earth all is turmoil.
In the hanging garden what can't be seen
is life which never sleeps.

Summer rushes on- whilst quietly
the hanging garden lets nature
create.
 Allowing life to pollinate.

The garden, it is somnolent.
All is in readiness.
The joy of coyness cast
aside, allows colour to flare.

 Leaping forth in joyous fun as if
shouting I'm here, I never slept.
 I am what I am, nature.  

 


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THE HANGING GARDEN

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