The plot was brown with dusty earth,
Ragged and edged by weeds,
Yet in her mind there was the birth,
Of a delicate silken seed.
This place was new but once she brushed,
And scraped, and pulled, and cleared,
She quietened her day, and hushed,
And an image then appeared.
There were borders raised and made of wood,
And filled with a deep loam,
That worms and bugs and others could,
Regard as their new home.
And walking down the paths of gravel,
That criss-crossed in between,
The plan became unravelled,
As her mind painted the scene.
Bathed in gentle summers light,
Staked tall, looking well fed,
So many colours, yellow and white,
But dominated by deep red.
For now this is her fantasy,
But I know she'll find a way,
To realise what her mind can see,
And she'll make it real one day.
Composed 2012
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