The flowers in the garden,
Are pretty to be seen,
Some are orange some are blue,
And the grass is pastel green.
The colours are too many,
They’re mixed up all the time,
But every time you look at them,
They never seem to rhyme.
You wonder why the trees,
Are only ever green,
Light and dark all different shades,
Are there just to be seen.
The roses blend their colour,
There are standard and there are small,
Some are even different,
They climb up any wall.
Fushcias lilies carnations mixed,
Are blended in with all the pinks,
The creepers going up the wall,
Are black eyed susans proud and tall.
And in between a gnome or two,
All brightly painted within the hue,
God gave us all this beauty to cast our eyes upon,
Whether it be solomn days or nice bright shining sun.