The Garden

THE GARDEN Lavender enthroned, beneath blue skies, The breath of the Lord Praises Mary With music in the garden. In sun imbued rains Near the strophic sea By the emerald glen, Her solemn brown eyes In the amber silhouette of a willow tree Emanate the strains Of harmonious oboe and a harpsichord. And when soft, solemn vespers rise In the sanctity of the sacred bower Over azure streams where the morning lark flies In the sacred reverence of the holy hour Devoid of all pain She walks in the long, voluptuous calms Of the matin sun Which trails down through the boughs like rain As God's true favored chosen one. And as I pine for the warmth of her maternal arms Her beauteous body, scented with its own choice perfumes Leaves in its wake where a symphony looms Gold, thyme and a scarlet red. And as I fan her hair And her pale, fair Forehead I can only sigh As she wanders, dreaming, slowly by In the bright, sunny cradle of the florid garden close Passed the statues and the fountains In the square beyond the mountains, More lovely than the summer rose. John Lars Zwerenz