Garden of the Griffin

 

Mars hangs before the moon, A red bee hovering Above a silver flower’s face. Far below, its roots are washed In water’s gleam Of the watching pond. Night’s garden dreams, Sweet and solitary.

Tell me where the peacock flies (In his tail a hundred eyes) In and out the trees; disguise Of tapestry among the blooms Through the gardens' hundred rooms Where the scented cypress looms Above the jasmine; silver night Wrapped above, beneath; while white The waking moon that dreams delight In wings of green that dip and rise, And gentle jasmine's sweet perfume On the moonlight's breath takes flight.