In The Garden, With Eve And Horns

Today, you can tell by the stagnant air, alligators and gars, the wind is still, and the garden calls out names. It is a garden of domination, tormenting, even the staunch goats refuse to tread and you bravely, walk into that bush, of horns, and the river winds off towards some thing else. To know not why, and stay be side the path, we thought we knew so well. Walking, ginger soft of foot and wind, it reaches out a thorn filled hand to touch you and brings us to the crest. Today in and of the stagnant air, the garden calls the name it wants to call, and moss dripps from trees that speak to you, the rest will dream the song as it was meant for them to hear.