The garden does not belong to me,
I’m just a butterfly, fluttering free.
A fleeting guest in blooms and green,
A whisper in this world unseen.

In this garden, some weeds take root,
Choking life, their poison’s pursuit.
But with steady hands, the gardener sees,
Uprooting them for the garden’s peace.

Many flowers, in colors bright,
Each one blooming in its own light.
Varying shapes, sweet scents, and hue,
A tapestry of life that feels so true.

The gardener waters with gentle care,
Digging deep to ensure it’s fair.
Each flower has its season, its time to rise,
Some bloom in spring, some reach for skies.

In summer’s warmth, they stretch and stand,
While autumn whispers a golden hand.
And winter’s chill, though cruel and cold,
Lets some flowers die, while others unfold.

The gardener knows when to plant anew,
Fresh seeds to sow for skies of blue.
Old blooms fade, but some return,
In cycles of life, they twist and turn.

With sun’s warm touch and rain’s sweet kiss,
The wind whispers, a lover’s bliss.
Together, they nourish the earth below,
So every flower can thrive and grow.

The garden does not belong to me,
But in my heart, it’s all I see.
I give my soul, I tend, I care,
For in the garden, love is there.

Though it’s not mine, it feels so true,
The garden lives with all we do.
And I, just a butterfly, will fly,
Knowing in this garden, I’ll never die.