Gardens sooth cities.
Flowers save us from sameness.
Mud for the boys; bouquets for the poised.
Flowers and honey work for the money.
An orchard is a wilderness, laid out in rows.
We arrived with the flowers; surrounded by them we depart.
Bt, temporarily.
GM — diversity’s end.
Storm, drought, bug, blight, every garden is a fright.
A garden is a complexity, dressed without perplexity.
Semper Augustus may finally disgust us.
All gardens dance to chance, and prance to wind and rain.