Iin Human's Terrace

There are so many smiling blooms The moment we approach them, Those may say not only touch them not, But also close their lips of the leaves, Sometimes when we touch the spiky dream, We may start to scratch and scream, When we are careless, not wearing, The cautious sandals or the shoes, We are poked with words of pins and needles, Certain stems are jovial and dance the trapeze, Engrossed in their own and others affairs, The shrubs are small, neatly cut with, Budget and financial loads of brain full, Stand still as the window and door frames, Weeds of variation have to be mowed down, The garden of human is lighted with xenon, The heart of them repair on its own.