One day as I take a stroll
To scrutinize and make things through
I see this garden first
As I stand with five senses and fist
I see green, yellow and many colors
I see trees, shrubs, fruits with many colors
I perfume the sweet fragrance of this garden
As bees and others do in Eden
I taste the tissue these fruits contain
And the morning wine in the flowers’ contents
I hear roaring of lions, whistling of birds
I hear different choruses giving birth
My brain is touched who the gardener is
Not mortal but immortal who was and is
I cross the borders of this manor
I see an infinite bare land honor
Naturally mowed, partly green and dry
At the side of this plain & dry
Is this Goliat-like giant stands
A friend of Kilimanjaro with tumor ants
Beneath is valley of streams of life
I resolve to take the craftiest my wife
As I still obsess over these scenes
And be in awe how it makes sense
Then I hear a voice saying all is yours
If you love me and my work, I’m yours
With fear I ask who you my Lord are
And the voice replies,

the craftiest, my loam ark
On my return I see how mean civilization is
The action & inaction of society is
Invading the good work of my love
As I sit sobbing in my grief
That sweet voice says no more chief
This is only external; internal is glorious
There, for you, is more glamorous
Just no cruelty, prodigality or infidelity like society
Be a faithful husband; my glory your city



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