The Garden
Walking within they do not know it,
Planted at their feet, the buried memories;
They only see a garden, bushes, trees
Not the secrets so delicately knit.
The flowers are silent to them, silent;
They do not say a word, but quietly
They are looked at, and admired quietly,
They whisper nothing and nothing relent.
Yet for me all the flowers keep you near,
The orchids and the heliconia,
Bromeliad and bougainvillea;
The plants you love that I in turn hold dear.
It is a living temple wherein
I come to find you; you smell of jasmine.
— Rafael Alejandro Jara.
