I sat late in my garden last night;
One rosebud opened and forgot to close;
Others were still sleeping in the moon light,
One fuchsia drooping down tickling the rose
Whispered, «Look the face of the moon the slopes
The shattered ugly spines of mountains high;
All tourists went there, came back without hopes
To find a garden like this in the sky.»
The iris with petaline dangling lips
Cried, «Where’s found the sole power to create
Who were them those who made me the clever trips
To heaven to see the garden of fate?»
The yellow corn cob with a tassel spake:
«Why argue about what’s still in the blind?.
Your syllogism but a sunless mistake,
Since you aren’t the right explorers to find
Paradise the holy garden in space.»