Asleep In The Garden Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

Asleep In The Garden

There is music in the autumn trees,
Veering from the sea, smelling of mint and thyme.
It ferries through the boughs, instilling the breeze
With ecstasies and golden rhyme.
And each wavering, willowy dew-clad vine
That weeps in the sun, drunk with the summer's light
Aspires to the sobbing stars which reign like wine
In the first nascent twinklings of the somnolent night.
Hail to all blessed flowing good grace
Which glistens on a pretty face,
Fair, fresh and young; she sleeps in the garden close,
Among the dappled daisies, and the glory of the rose.