Garden
A winding path
Going past the shadowy birch tree
And through the bushels of flowers,
Once I reach the secret garden door.
To get to
Peace,
Peace,
Peace,
To the bright
and airy
garden.
To hear the sound of shovels,
But I begin to inquire,
“Will it ever get finished?”
“Will it ever get finished?”
“Will it ever get finished?”
And walking in,
I feel a sense of calm,
Rush over me like a wave.
The end
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