The Circle of Life in a Garden

In the garden’s heart, where whispers bloom,
The earth holds secrets, life and doom.
A seed is sown, a tender birth,
From soil to sky, to dust, to earth.

The petals rise in morning’s grace,
Each bloom a breath, a fleeting trace.
A daisy’s dance, a rose’s sigh,
Their beauty caught in time’s swift eye.

But as the sun dips low, they bow,
Their colors fade, they know not how.
A cycle spun in quiet thread,
Where life and death are softly wed.

The vines that climb, the roots that spread,
Each one connects, a web is fed.
From wilted leaf to budding sprout,
The garden’s voice calls out, calls out.

The bees that hum, the birds that fly,
They carry seeds, they tell no lie.
What dies today shall rise again,
In seasons new, in future rain.

A garden whispers of the past,
Of fleeting days that never last.
Yet in its death, there’s life anew,
For each decay, the world renews.

And so the flowers, as they fall,
Give way to life, the garden’s call.
Through death, through life, they intertwine,
A sacred bond, a fate divine.

In every root, in every bloom,
There lies the truth of life’s great loom—
A dance eternal, dark and bright,
The circle turns from day to night.

- Khushi Kaul