Jonathan ROBIN (22 September / London)
Thou Garden Art
THOU GARDEN ART
Thou garden art without the gate
whose roses, lilies, shared with all
grow close together, early, late,
enchant the senses when I call.
An open book for thee I'll be
so we may share eternity.
Thou garden art, whose colours flow
as if by magic through true heart,
intense the thrill, spell's dizzy glow.
Slight matter seems the miles apart -
'togetherness' gives meaning true
to skies which shine forever blue.
Thou garden art, whose soft scent spread
sweet essence - 'Myrrh - I am'' transported! -
No artery in vain the head
solicits though though the way we've courted
unusual is to say the least,
whets appetite yet fills with feast.
Thou garden art whose artless fields
grow greener daily, stimulate,
so soft, so feminine, - who yields
to whom one wonders, contemplate
as tendrils touch behind the scenes,
old walls fall into smithereens.
One page leaves insufficient space
to trace the wonder two could feel
yet more seems treason, out of place
when in due season karmic wheel
will spin the way to win true peace,
discover tenderness, release.
11th January 2007
Poem © Jonathan Robin Thou Garden Art
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