These eighty years the garden’s stayed unchanged
No, as the seasons turn they fade or bloom
The colours, textures somewhat rearranged
This time next year familiar scents assume

The gravel paths, the cared and tended beds
The birds that visit daily reassured
There is no predator that softly treads
Their safety at their grazing is ensured

But should the writer seek to fly away
To seek excitement, danger, far and wide
To seek out wond’rous places, for they say
We will regret our chances if denied

But here surrounded by wisteria
One cannot claim that it’s inferior