I sowed tiny seeds of words
like aspen, maple, rowan
and got three magnificent trees.
I thought of lilies and bees
and wrote a few lines
about rosemary and thyme,
then I drew an alley and a Door
where ivy hadn’t crept the wall
and goldenrod was standing tall,
and this was neither art nor poetry
but rather a garden beyond memory,
such a pretty place to see you again.
Illustration: the Kitchen Garden, Gustave Caillebotte (1877)