By Arcassin Burnham


Too much beauty in this garden,
When the stone is nearly hardened,
And you think its too good,
Sun shining in the distance,
Couldn't see it if you could,
Nothing meeting with resistance,
I don't think we really should in this pretty garden,
But in this pretty garden,
Daffodils and all the lillies,
Raining down ,it might get drippy,
Maybe coursing through vains,
Just a figment image,
Don't wanna die in pure pain,
That's poorly forgiving,
We welcome forgiveness not utter shame in this
Pretty garden.