To have a small garden with you,
filled with flowers of all colors,
blooms I’ve not used for love poems
for anyone else, in any other time,
that would be perfectly ideal.
But the world is not a garden.
Real life is a tangle of thorns,
roses with berry canes and blooms.
And I have done it all before,
but not half so well as with you.
Life is not simply a bouquet.
An adventure, a secret glade,
exploding with colors and scents.
In ways I never imagined.
Mixed with decay, it is still sweet.