Roger Haule


My beautiful garden

My Beautiful Garden

That garden of beautiful flowers,
That garden of pleasant rays,
That garden of strong roots,
To cherish in light years,
Is jerk of living souls.

My garden of beautiful flowers,
In mid Of photogenic process,
Is home of nameless insects,
That swarm in singing praises,
Than joy of buying Cadillacs.

My garden of beautiful flowers,
Is soul of young kids,
That grow to build nations,
To outwit the ongoing guts,
Of inhumanity in human epidemis.

Our garden of beautiful flowers,
Is sum of client savings,
To withdraw in needy situations,
As together we join hands,
With balls to embrace lioness.

That garden of beautiful flowers,
Is built in healthy preference,
To shine and live regardless,
Of fuss in good caitiffs,
To surmount the tower Angelus.

I choose to weed weeds,
To enrich the awesome flowers,
My hands are imperative dangerous,
To listen the deep sequacious,
In jerking the living souls.

It speaks the world languages,
It kills the world hearts,
It understands and kindly follows,
The inner but choo-choos avoids,
So mountains be moved asides.

By Roger Haule
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