My Garden

The soft breeze blows,
Making white roses wave.
As if they are hands,
Caught up in a rave.

These perfectly flawed flowers.
So pretty to the eye,
But painful to touch,
Reaching high to the sky.

My garden is filled,
With flowers like these.
All waving as one,
When caught in the breeze.

The pond in the middle,
Is like a small pool.
When I dip in my feet,
It's shallow and cool.

I'm out on the lawn,
On a warm spring day.
Reading my book,
As I lay in the shade.

I pause in my reading,
To look up at the sky.
Grounded on Earth,
Yet dreaming I can fly.

--Hannah R., Adult