In the garden of my neighbour,
refuse bags let off fusions of obnoxious fumes
that fill the hood and its immediate expanse,
I refuse to immerse myself in the foul odour
and fumigate the stench around my courtyard

In the garden of my house,
on the doorsteps I stand and catch my breath
as flower petals of various hews and colours
sent out whiffs of scented aroma into the air,
and I muse over musical strains of sounds so profound,
bird chirpings, screeching crickets and croaking frogs

Lost in these rain – soaked lawns and forested flowers,
golden sun rays disappearing into long shadows
and slowly dissipating the day's last rainless cloud,
I look, listen and linger long enough to feel the freshness
in all the abundance of heart, mind, body and soul

Like gardens, hearts and minds are well springs
of thoughts, feelings, habbits and deeds
that we dare guard against vile and foul