She is an Amethyst quartz garden.
With courts of roses fair and exquisite.
A morea painted mystery.
In full bloom she is.
Her fragrance dances upon the breezes
Touches all who behold her beauty.
Weeping, the dew falls from her delicate gossamer petals.
She doesn’t know that she is beautiful.
Doesn’t feel she is beautiful.
But the angels recognize she is true.
They regard her fragile beauty.
Her generous heart.
She grows in purity.
With love she gives.
Her name is Lila.
She is a garden.
By: Renee Greene
(For my Purple friend)