Poetry Friday: The Garden of Words Not Yet Born

I tread a path so old and worn
Rambling freely, feet so blithe,
To the Garden of Words Not Yet Born
Through my wild and untamed mind

Water daily with patient care
On the seeds of future hope
Spring fertile mental grounds
Many words of wondrous kinds

Some are beautiful but shy
And turn their glowing faces away
From the golden sun
Others are strident and confident
And strut their pomposity
With fanfares of arrogance
Some are elegant
Like graceful ladies twirling in ball gowns
Some are bewildering
Like flashing explosions of fireworks
Still others are ugly
But still sway to attract attention

From disgusted passersby
Yet I can’t help but love them all
And caress them with tender love
For I have given birth to every word

And love them all
A bewildered passerby
Stare in awe at the sublime
Living alongside the vile

Then shook his in bemusement
I can only reply
“This is the Garden of Words not Yet Born
Every word is a precious child
There are no weeds to pull or plow
The ugly ones still should be loved.”

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