Eight Paths Garden
This secret garden should surprise,
decidedly different from what you’d surmise.
If a dreamer on a midsummer night should arise,
Angkor not Athens is what he spies.
Many a vine entwines in Shiva’s lair,
where the changeling fair
might chance to be ‘neath Daphne’s tree.
Goddess Ganga guards the Koi.
The flute is ‘ever Krishna’s toy.
Siddhartha serenely surveys the scene.
He picks the pathway, not Titania the queen.
But other divas don’t despair,
Puck too plays there.
You should suppose to see a rose,
perhaps a color the English chose.
Hellebores and hostas fight ferns for place of pride,
while heucheras rest contently on the side.
Brugmansia whispers in the elephant’s ear,
as the canna and banana strain to hear.
But what tale has she spun?
Eight paths are one?
Some shall keep searching until the leaf turns.
Hosta hunters will find fog among the ferns.
The seeker may find the pathway if he learns.