Tessa, At The Singapore Botanic Gardens

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Oh the ecstasy of a garden!
Gardeners trudging around in hats
and all bundled hosing up
leaves in the ravishing heat.
I felt meagre. Where were the throngs?
Only tourists ebbed and flowed.

(This is a mystical world you gave,
O God, improbable as an elephant fish,
filled with all manner of oddities
and I’ve merely named one.
And yea, you’ve planted one bulgy seed
and given us free will.)

I thought the purple orchids so
enchanting, dreaming about having
a hybrid named after me. Vanda Irene–
fancy that, Tessa dear. O how can
a bone dry summer bear so much?
In answer, pouring rain!

Prompt: Oh here comes the solicitor of poems! Alright, I’m no solicitor. I’m more a practising poet than anything. I share my poems with the world at large, so I’m kind of a poet at large. I don’t want to be locked up in an ivory tower. So if you’re on the same kind of journey, you’re welcome to join me. Or not. Free will, remember? Back to the prompt, it’s to write about a garden. I bet you’ll probably think about the Garden of Eden. Or maybe not. You’ll think about the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew. Or no, your backyard garden. That’s probably it.

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