Come into my garden, oh my friend,
Morn and eve, this is where I spend.
My heart, my soul, here’s what I tend,
Make it vivid and grand, that I intend.
Here are the dahlia, hollyhock and rose,
Write your poetry, verse or your prose.
Why seek paradise, when heaven is close?
Leave all worries, why are you morose?
Pluck not flowers, beautiful on the bough,
Many a sweat I shed and many a plough.
Tender are these hands that did sow,
My pain, effort and toil you must know.
Children chasing the darting butterflies,
Collecting honey the humming bee flies.
Squeaking squirrel to crack a nut tries,
Chirping bird catches a worm that cries.
There’s the honey bee flitting over flowers,
Above the plots and beds and the bowers,
Ignoring weather, undeterred by showers,
Flying and flitting in the garden that’s ours.
Come, sit on the bench, with us do converse,
Paint a picture beautiful or do write a verse.
Stars on sky, flowers in garden are our Universe,
Good bye my friend and please again traverse.
© Copyright 2017 shyam sundar bulusu. All rights reserved.
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