Imagine all the love our lives enclose
if placed within walled garden’s memory.
There gently falls the rain where grows the rose;
where droplets tremble in the wind and flee.
A wondrous world with rain-bowed colors blown
‘neath places in the sun where true things grow.
So be the rose whose petals now are flown
yet youth and passion’s heart remain and glow.
Oh, love forever growing free, she breathes;
she grows unbidden in green bowers where
her colors flow and are bright destiny.
Yet wild her vine and willing yet to share.
And so that love, a-blooming, it must be:
one still, small blossom through eternity.