One of palettes and scents aplenty,
With breaths of each become more compelling.
That this Garden which so seemingly unassuming,
Is really worth one’s time in revisits.

Once on the hills with stalks petaled in,
Against the vast ground of evergreens,
Contrasts that accentuates your lovely lovelies,
Awed stand I when you I chanced to meet.

For under the sky blues and puffs of white,
There they sit demure and so very poised.
And when in gentle winds they brush across,
Their leaves like hair flows just like yours.

Those to the Garden will sight what I see,
Surely those I describe convert too to attest it.
With each picture my lit eyes are color-blushed,
Long I to Kelly’s Garden again fast.

Choices not apparent the always,
Deceivable most times the case,
If be uninvolved so snap smooth the first place,
Then what of choice would be it in dawning preface?

How we then make verdict of it all?
Consensus concord a volition pray.
For some in haste and foolhardy made,
Regrettable woeful will afflict its place.

Bassanio too was worriment engaged,
For dependent was Portia on his take.
Should gold, silver or lead be his box picked?
Should he cull a coward pick?

As stairs of sand they wear upon their chins,
The beard of Hercules and all their fancy things.
But inward with their milk’d white livers,
So too the precious metal boxes contain.

Autumn disrobes Life of Spring,
Prepares for purity Winter brings.
White which follows path the way,
Cleanses so Life can start again.