The Garden Poem by James McLain
The Garden
My head as if does my heart skip a beat
when left as it is
and when then I ask will you come?
Under the oak the accorns grow now heavy
vividly purple looking around some are green.
And yes dear,
the wall from the house that leads to the garden
has painted the sky dark blue.
While the ladder
their upon which I stand and hanging over the vine
slowly grows up towards the yellow sun.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/19/2024 2:08:26 AM # 1.0.0.1119
