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The
garden, the garden, everything,
the garden.
Where born, we live to die with
pardon.
Holy Water
Is the blood,
Streaming through our stems
Since bud.
Sacrament,
Fertilizes,
When full bloomed
The world despises.
Penanced petals
Prepped to fall,
Garden requiem
Does call
Other souls,
In soil, His seed,
To the gardened
Blossomed breed.
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Incensing
all
With perfumed prayer
As gardener trims
And prunes with care.
For winter comes,
And colors fade.
But scent...can't die...
It leaves as bade.
While once bloomed plant
Withers, no sound.
A mulch for soil
And seeds in ground.
'Till back with scent
On harvest day!
Together, forever...
Everlasting bouquet.
JMJ
Long-Skirts
11/11/03
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