Amid untamed meadow’s spreading green,
Soft‑pink, golden, violet blooms unfurl their delicate sheen,
Dark‑yellow and pale‑gold wanderers make their sweet survey,
Free nature breathes where wild small beauties always find their way.
No artificial order nor man‑made rules hold sway
Each form of life unfurls in full mindful grace
Clear waters mirror light, no chasing trace
True gain abides within calm balanced flow
Joy dwells untouched by all the world’s vain show
When self’s faint shadow fades from heart’s pure core
Unbroken peace becomes our lasting store
Two souls curve, fast‑bound by one small bloom,
Weaving a loop where gentle passions loom,
Like brush‑drawn love in its hot dancing form,
Knit by fine threads no distance can storm.
Odd‑shaped and sweet in playful quirky art,
Plain little things hold deep‑set love in their heart.
I drift through waves of colour, solitary and unbound,
Mid all the world’s fanfare and glamour, I keep on my path quiet and sound.
Bright marvels spread before each casual wanderer’s eye,
Yet wisdom lies in true solitude, where time‑bound passions fly.
Bright clouds drift high o'er leafy green array,
Warm sunlight breathes through every bough's display.
Sweet scenes beguile the gazer’s joyful thumb,
Young hearts take flight to strive for truth’s full sum.
How can I not bounce with delight,
In a refreshing summer day so fair and bright?
Soft clouds drift slow o’er red towers tall,
The court’s warm hum sweetens every sunlit wall;
Where youth and light and quiet joy combine,
This bliss of school shall ever stay and shine.
The cloud’s Cheshire grin hangs high o’er green boughs,
Bright blue sky holds its soft, fluffy brow.
The mist-face breathes slow, a faint murmur drawn clear:
“You guys are certainly all glad here.”
😹🙀😸
At eighteen Hercules weighs joy’s brief call
By choosing virtue o’er sweet pleasure's thrall.
One path winds with moss-hewn timbered stair;
One violet-laced lane breathes mist’s gentle air.
How many, dear friends, will have the gall,
To take the rarely travelled after all?
My cucumber garden hurls a query stark and cold:
Why must hard toil of labor still be dealt and doled?
Does every weary miner strike and find pure gold?
Who weighs the cost of sweat against the tales untold?
@ashionegallery Thank you for your kind concern. It was the first cucumber from my little plot--challening me with a question mark😨
Have a pleasant new week!🫶