My Garden

My garden is a gentle place, well ordered and attended
Amidst the rough, chaotic space that circumscribes its walls
To enter is to breathe again, to rest the weary senses
From every bleak and battered sight, from grating, shrieking calls.

A place to contemplate how very tender life can be,
The budding of the seedling, the willingness of soil.
The birds and bees will eat their share, but always guarantee
That following the seasonĀ“s end new flowers are in store.

If any day you find that incongruity is a burden,
Come into my garden, let your mind be rearranged.
A subtle breeze might whisper a secret to your soul.
You might encounter many things you thought would never change.