The gardenI am passing through a garden
With flowers everywhere.
They softly sway with coy delight,
Their fragrance scents the air.
Who can walk the perfumed garden
Where all this beauty grows,
And claim to know with certainty
Which is the sweetest rose?
Yet ere I leave this lovely place;
One blossom I may choose.
To keep for comfort where I go,
The others I must lose.
Poetry by Maglor
Read 734 times
Written on 2005-05-30 at 19:15
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