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Description
There grows a garden not far away,
Where gentle breezes make flowers sway,
By an iron fence the world's kept out,
But from it zephyrs spread fragrances all about.

Planted long ago by the Master's hand,
Now tended by wee folk, an angel band,
Beautiful flowers grow from edge to edge,
Totally protected by the tall iron hedge.

Living close by the garden was young Pete,
Twisted from birth, from shoulder to feet,
Walking with a shuffle and a bit of a jerk,
Folks avoided him with a taunting smirk.

Every day to the iron fence he came,
To take in the beauty, to escape his shame,
To be close to the flowers, their beauty to behold,
His lonesome sadness, their fragrance did enfold.

He searched for a gate, but none could be found,
Along the fence he shuffled, around and around,
Then one day 'twas a wee one he met, who said
"To enter reach for a flower's petalled head,
'Tis the Master's hand you' ll find instead."

So Pete stretched through to touch a flower,
But none could he reach by his own power,
A flower all bright and red, toward him bent,
He strained and stretched his strength now spent.

Again the flower moved, into his hand it bent,
And through an unseen gate he mysteriously went,
Amid the flowers he stood amazed,
His joy filled eyes shined tear glazed.

>From that day on Pete worked in the garden,
The flowers loving care, he became their warden,
Happy he was, but still lonely to be sure,
To the pickers of his life he still sought cure.

He tended the garden with love and mirth,
Such beauty not experienced since his day of birth,
The wee ones watched his gnarled hands work,
They cried as they watched him walk with a jerk.

Then from the midst of the flowers the Master did talk,
"Hurry to the center of the garden, you must walk,
I have a bush there that needs your special care,
Go quickly, I'll speak again to you there."

So off shuffled Pete, for the center he did depart,
As he went the garden's beauty filled his heart,
The further he went, the taller the flowers did grow,
Then into the center he fell, tripping over his own toe.

Lifting his head, he looked around quite shaken,
What place is this, the Master must be mistaken,
At the edge of a wide circle of dry dirt he did lay,
His sorrowful tears, turned dirt to a thin film of clay.

In the center of the circle was a withered old bush,
Twisted and gnarled, thorns from its branches did push,
No leaves, no flowers, all dry, it looked ,
As others had looked at him, he stared at it with dread.

>From outside the circle a voice said, bright and clear,
"Go to the bush, all will be well, have no fear."
So with his withered legs, to the withered bush he went,
All the way questioning, why he was sent.

The Master spoke again, loud and bold,
"Reach into the branches and pull as you take hold."
Just as the thorns pierced, it wasn't wood he held, but flesh,
The air about him, the fragrance of a rose, new and fresh.

The dirt about him was now new grass of emerald green.
In his hands, the arms of a maiden, such beauty he'd never seen,
The Master said, " Meet Rose, it is for you, here she grew,
Look close, you've both been made anew."

There the Rose maiden stood, surrounded by all that is love,
A new young Pete felt like he could fly like a dove,
Like her fragrance, her warmth filled the air about her,
Now once again, Pete's eyes with tears of joy did blur.

She gently smiled and quietly they talked,
And through the garden they lovingly walked,
Arm in arm, heart to heart,
The Master's pledge, "never would they part."

The wee folk laughed as they watched with glee,
Pete and Rose dancing together, forever free.
Love filled the garden as the flower's essence had before,
A beautiful Rose and a brand new Pete, lived in the garden forever more.

But 'tis a curious thing to yet be told,
The cruel world looked through the fence to behold,
A twisted, gnarled old man, pierced and tangled,
In an old rose bush, on the ground and mangled.

This story now, is yours to mind,
Reach out for a flower, new life to find,
In the Master's hand, who for you arose,
A new life he will give you, like that of Pete and of Rose.

©by D. R. Hartle
[link]

FOR PRINTS! Go here... [link]

Description
There grows a garden not far away,
Where gentle breezes make flowers sway,
By an iron fence the world's kept out,
But from it zephyrs spread fragrances all about.

Planted long ago by the Master's hand,
Now tended by wee folk, an angel band,
Beautiful flowers grow from edge to edge,
Totally protected by the tall iron hedge.

Living close by the garden was young Pete,
Twisted from birth, from shoulder to feet,
Walking with a shuffle and a bit of a jerk,
Folks avoided him with a taunting smirk.

Every day to the iron fence he came,
To take in the beauty, to escape his shame,
To be close to the flowers, their beauty to behold,
His lonesome sadness, their fragrance did enfold.

He searched for a gate, but none could be found,
Along the fence he shuffled, around and around,
Then one day 'twas a wee one he met, who said
"To enter reach for a flower's petalled head,
'Tis the Master's hand you' ll find instead."

So Pete stretched through to touch a flower,
But none could he reach by his own power,
A flower all bright and red, toward him bent,
He strained and stretched his strength now spent.

Again the flower moved, into his hand it bent,
And through an unseen gate he mysteriously went,
Amid the flowers he stood amazed,
His joy filled eyes shined tear glazed.

>From that day on Pete worked in the garden,
The flowers loving care, he became their warden,
Happy he was, but still lonely to be sure,
To the pickers of his life he still sought cure.

He tended the garden with love and mirth,
Such beauty not experienced since his day of birth,
The wee ones watched his gnarled hands work,
They cried as they watched him walk with a jerk.

Then from the midst of the flowers the Master did talk,
"Hurry to the center of the garden, you must walk,
I have a bush there that needs your special care,
Go quickly, I'll speak again to you there."

So off shuffled Pete, for the center he did depart,
As he went the garden's beauty filled his heart,
The further he went, the taller the flowers did grow,
Then into the center he fell, tripping over his own toe.

Lifting his head, he looked around quite shaken,
What place is this, the Master must be mistaken,
At the edge of a wide circle of dry dirt he did lay,
His sorrowful tears, turned dirt to a thin film of clay.

In the center of the circle was a withered old bush,
Twisted and gnarled, thorns from its branches did push,
No leaves, no flowers, all dry, it looked ,
As others had looked at him, he stared at it with dread.

>From outside the circle a voice said, bright and clear,
"Go to the bush, all will be well, have no fear."
So with his withered legs, to the withered bush he went,
All the way questioning, why he was sent.

The Master spoke again, loud and bold,
"Reach into the branches and pull as you take hold."
Just as the thorns pierced, it wasn't wood he held, but flesh,
The air about him, the fragrance of a rose, new and fresh.

The dirt about him was now new grass of emerald green.
In his hands, the arms of a maiden, such beauty he'd never seen,
The Master said, " Meet Rose, it is for you, here she grew,
Look close, you've both been made anew."

There the Rose maiden stood, surrounded by all that is love,
A new young Pete felt like he could fly like a dove,
Like her fragrance, her warmth filled the air about her,
Now once again, Pete's eyes with tears of joy did blur.

She gently smiled and quietly they talked,
And through the garden they lovingly walked,
Arm in arm, heart to heart,
The Master's pledge, "never would they part."

The wee folk laughed as they watched with glee,
Pete and Rose dancing together, forever free.
Love filled the garden as the flower's essence had before,
A beautiful Rose and a brand new Pete, lived in the garden forever more.

But 'tis a curious thing to yet be told,
The cruel world looked through the fence to behold,
A twisted, gnarled old man, pierced and tangled,
In an old rose bush, on the ground and mangled.

This story now, is yours to mind,
Reach out for a flower, new life to find,
In the Master's hand, who for you arose,
A new life he will give you, like that of Pete and of Rose.

©by D. R. Hartle
[link]

FOR PRINTS! Go here... [link]