The Garden Is Always Open

The Garden Is Always Open
by Joseph H. Talmage

Nothing lacks life in this garden,
Hiding at the end of a narrow, earthy tunnel.
A fork in the road at the end of this passage,
Leads one way to a watering hole,
Opposite the garden.
Fiery, red branches flow over towering stone walls,

Like a waterfall blankets moss-toned rocks.
Life is maintained through music-rich air;

A mixture of oxygen and Moody Blues.
Ivy consumes the brick;
Climbing up a terrace,
Creeping towards a pond.
Coy fish mingle to the pitter-patter of an age-old fountain.
A central fire brings light to the night;
The smell of burnt cedar detectable, yet delicate.
Only the stars blanket this nook,
A vast ceiling of timeless chandeliers.