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(The Weeds of Deception, In the Garden of Truth)


He just can’t believe

All the breath it takes when we are breathing.

With nothing up his sleeve

It’s only fair that he should settle down for good.

And tend, to, the garden, and his soul.

Breaking up the ground

Caress the soil where seeds are sown in.

To time is what he’s bound.

He must wait until the planting season comes.

The gardener makes love, with his spade.

There is much to do.

One cannot sit down and remain waiting.

Something very new

Could succumb to weeds that take the place of truth.

And bring, forth, deceptions, bitter fruit.

The blossom has good news.

It sends a message that will tease the senses.

With colors many hues,

And scents that dance upon the breeze in real time.

Lips, wet, with pollen, kiss the bees.

(Frost is pleased) As summer waves good-bye,

The gardener has a thought for our consideration.

It’s that we all must die.

But like the garden, the decay will bring new life.

God bless the reason.

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