Sitting In The Garden

It makes you wonder what stands correcting

In reason is a thing that stands upending

Uphill to reason. We can't attend there

We can't attend the hell Our roots are breathing

A fruit is fleeting We give the meaning

The seed reproves to need all self-sustaining

We came from this truth on thought or matter

The parting unconsumed we could consider

The seed's a bit bitter like roots in nature

I wonder at the growth it shows to gesture

Long like the oak here? Who shares your pleasure?

Did you spire like the wings and offer home there?

Do you blush before the reaper?

Do birds see color? How do they know then to gratify the sky with pattern?

I know a little. I may fly with thee

 

Sitting in the garden sweet

Drifting o'er the flowers that stale when brought to speak

Poof back, loop back, blow

 

How cold when it comes to comes to reasoning

How distance molds the seed that blooms abandoning

Sitting in the garden sweet

Drifting o'er the flowers that stale when brought to speak

Pick a flower. Crush a flower.

Sitting in the garden sweet

Drifting tip I’m brought to speak brought to speak

 

When you do not play with beauty and when you do not seek to please

all around you are sweet gardens with no air for memory