Sweet petals soft drift in shades of pink
the wind caresses the garden bending the trees
could it be the bee asks but she buzzes all the day
smiling in the honeysuckle or chirpiness of the daisies
the night when she comes to the garden sighs
for she has to cover all this beauty with cloak
yet scented glory of the stocks perfumes the air
slips over window sill on warm summer air.
still moonlight glistens on leaf and stem
silvering the gilded roses in cliches
whilst the night guards the garden jealously
till the suns warm tender lips reach over the wall
to illuminate the paths and hallow with her warmth.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The poem paints the garden so we see.