'Gardens are not made by singing ‘Oh, how beautiful,’ and sitting in the shade.' Rudyard Kipling.
Gardens are the family of lovely plants,
the sacred gift of God, the abode of beauty.
How arid will our mother Earth look,
had she been barren with no green offspring?
Bald-headed, flying dust,
attack of torrent rains, injured body,
and showers cart her parted parts to water.
The Sun happily cooks her figure
burning hard all that bears life.
Gardens fill our hearts, support beings to find food
and shelter and shade, orchards the heavens of
birds, and blooms are of bees, how lovely!
And the friend breeze shake hands with twigs;
the wind cuddles wild, giving a twist subtle.
But though our gardens sedate our eyes
with their beauty, they cannot enchant us
until unless we help them to grow caringly
with pampering; giving them cool bath,
feeding with manure, grooming to look cute,
And life is a symbiosis, by extending hands to hands.
