knee high grasses and soft planting kisses.
my heart leaps to its waning mother;
it ignites the skies in blues and whites,
fourth of July's and less lonely nights.
if the garden was ever my lover,
than I could never leave her.
the sweetest honeysuckle adorns her hair of clover
and the marigolds envelope me in warmth,
imploring me to stay over.
my darling garden,
I did not create you out of nothing,
but promise to love you when nothing remains.
