"The
Garden" by Linda Munson Peth
The garden to Ghost House is
barred, enclosed.
The yard is flowering, flowing in peony springs,
Waters-of-the-valley.
The grass sings concerts of constant companionship
With roses and kisses.
The lovely lies of summer rear their heads,
Promising eternity in beds of blossoms,
Butterflies vamping the honeysuckle, flourishing,
Jealous bees visiting from the orchard,
Bringing the profit of pollination
To the little apple trees.
Ghost Garden is planted with projects,
Rejecting nothing that will grow green,
A rendition of truth.
Joy has taken root, taken an interest here,
Sending out shoots and runners,
Blossoms and pregnant celebrations of life and self.
Ghost Garden is wife to Ghost House,
Espoused on the wedding day.
She is clever in getting her way
By being beauty to the beholder,
And what she wants is worship,
Which is, in her view,
Taking you into her confidence,
The penultimate of satisfactions.
You are seduced.
She woos, wins and compasses to her aim.
