Silver spanish moss hangs low, dressing the mighty Oak
with a lace tatting hem for emerald green leaves
that hold fast in the sluggish summer breeze
The walled garden is stifling this time of year,
the sweltering air heavy as granite stone,
Emerging cicadas sing from high in the trees
from afar, lonely cries of ravens yearn for home
An ancient copper urn with a patina of verdigris
wears a bonnet of bright white trailing petunias
two wrought iron chairs adorned with peacocks
offer a place for rest, to contemplate and dream
as you lick tiny rivulets of strawberry ice cream
Imaginary Garden With Real Toads: Bits of Inspiration You Write the Color
The Reluctant Poet 
Stunning poem! πΈ
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