My garden

And I let the rage howl among the roses.
For the tiny white clover to bloom lost among long blades of fondness.
All disorderly,
untamed.
It seems opposite and quite contrary to order and purpose.

It flies savage,
Dandelion white whirling.
Weedly basking in the unknown.
Enchanted butterflies and bees buzzing in and out.
Madness.
Still it thinks and fruits, my garden.