I found, like a bunch of playful smiling children, that innocence was not hiding in my garden...

White flowers, in my garden, with long stems,
majestic, like aristocratic Tchaikovsky's swans,
long necked, watchful, without seemingly looking at
the pompous roses that were budding around.

There, a few calla flowers bunched together
like a throng of gossiping fishmonger's wives
trying to imitate the color of innocence
but in my garden, they are not as white.

A solitary cactus, a six-footer sentinel armed
with long thorns, soldiers bayonets like,
guards my small Eden, a gray scarecrow
discouraging invasion of the vandals.

And here, being cuddled by so many leaves
starting to blush a first strawberry, wild,
promising nectar to future visiting busy bees
that can stop there, after flying all the time.

A green sea of a garden with rainbow waves,
where my majestic "swans" wear invisible crowns,
but like angels, seems no to touch the muddy puddle
as they keep the color of innocence so much alive!