This garden is invisible to me
As a whole, 
When I'm inside of it
To walk under its trees.
All I can do
Is to smell
Its unique natural flowers, 
And to eat its fruits, 
But when I get out
To look at it, at some distance
On that hill, 
I can see it
In its entire splendor
In the early evening of a brilliant, orange-red
Autumn.
Copyright © ® Marieta Maglas. All rights reserved.                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    