The old man was the last of his kind,
He was beginning to feel it in his bones,
Leaning over the garden gate,
Knowing the end was drawing near,
But time for one last walk among his memories.
The scent of a rose,
Held in his hands for a moment,
Rambling and wild now,
Beyond his reach.
How soft and tender was the lily,
So milky white and pure,
How many times was he captured by your beauty?
Sweet orchid, moonlight on her exotic skin,
A visitor from so far away.
Golden wattle tresses,
Tied with a ribbon,
Drifting in a springtime breeze.
Charming daisy, always cheerful,
Jasmine, the exotic one,
Filling the air with her sensuous aroma.
Bryony with flashing green eyes,
A hint of jealousy in her touch.
His footsteps come to rest
At the bottom of the garden,
Lowering tired limbs on a bench,
A bunch of marguerite clutched in his fingers,
Thinking about her French softness,
Sun bright face and loving kisses.
Marguerite had spread
Throughout his fertile garden,
Always ready to make him smile,
Time honoured favourite
Giving free reign to her imagination
With vibrant splashes of colour.
He raises marguerite to his lips for one last kiss.