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.

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