Beneath the sky of tender hues,
My thoughts arise on morning dews.
Each blade of green, each stroke I send,
Speaks of the dreams I strive to tend.
The flowers tall in golden grace,
Mirror the hopes I daily chase.
They bloom not wild, nor held too tight,
But dance in freedom, kissed by light.
The fence below with roots so deep,
Protects the seeds I wish to keep.
Not walls of fear, but care composed,
Where soul and soil are gently closed.
Little homes with roofs aglow,
Hold stories that the breezes know.
Of faith and fire, of calm and storm,
Of moments rare and love in form.
Above them soar the birds I freed,
Each one a thought, a silent need.
To wander far, yet still return—
To fires that in my spirit burn.
So here I paint, and here I pray,
With colours drawn from every day.
This garden grows not just in land,
But in my heart, through brush and hand.
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