The world of words, never fails to amaze, Pure as a river, pristine as a blaze, Sweet melancholy, bitter rhyme, Time oh, time, healing me yet cutting me fine.
Words can hurt, words can heal, Words can tell, words can feel, Words can be curses or spells of love, Written in our fate by the Heavens above.
In this garden, the oak trees boast, Of their wistful wisdom, raising a toast, Great wisdom comes with a heavy price, Sometimes monotonous, sometimes nice.
The small sapling telling tales, Of long lost wonder, forgotten sails, They buried you, but they didn't know that you are a seed, And you can grow back beautiful indeed.
The flower with it's nectar sweet, For the butterfly, it's a blissful treat, The flower blooms with grace, Once a bud, but now an enchanting haze.
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The river cuts through rocks alone, Patience and perseverance of her own, What can bend, doesn't need to break, Swift as the sea, lively as the lake.
The vast skies, the clear hue, With its glory encoded in blue, How infinite can humans be, There's always more than what the eyes can see.
This beautiful garden, a transcendental swing, Words hanging onto them like beads in a string, Words can cut, words can cure, Words are divine manifestations of the pure.
