There was magic in my garden this past night, a spell was cast on winter’s gloom.
For how else does a seed, a spore, a root or vine so stealthily creep?
Flowers unfurl a scent so divine and trees are lush with shielding leaves.
The fruit don coats in brilliant shades and mushrooms ring the dewy grass.
Was it called upon the wind, or was the rain bestowed the honor?
Was it spun upon the wings of bees or sent as a song among the trees?
I know at last how it was cast. The Garden King and his dear Queen held court.
And there beneath the moon, my garden did so finely bloom.