Viewfinder SUMMER

Walk along a path,

Walk along a road,

Shaded by the branches of a branch;

Their leaves bright green in growth,

Their buds fragile pink.

A secret place,

A hidden entrance,

Hidden only by the eyes of indifference.

Even the crimson berries – the signs –

May not draw that attention.

For the little people,

For the tiny beings,

The garden route of silent musings;

A gentle place to ponder another
Generation's time.