A GARDEN

In my mind I have created a garden
populated with insects who don’t bite
and birds who don’t shit on my paper when I write
there is a lily pond, with frogs who know Bach

However, they keep quiet. This is my refuge
where nothing pierces through the surface
every ripple is merely the smile of an admirer
every distortion the promise of a silence

I sit at a table, turning all that I see
into bold and brazen words; forever
in love with language, forever beholden
to her blossoms, that lie rotting at my feet

This poem was not generated by an automated poetry generator.

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