Keith Drake
U.S.A.

The Garden

I traveled to the garden's gate
Inhaled its floral breeze
And hoped that I was not too late
I come to only please.

I pushed away the sacred lock
And thrust open the bars
Walked upon the path of rock
And gazed towards the stars

I began to prune the garden's hedge
Until the time was morn,
And when upon the garden's edge
I found not one a thorn.