I gather flowers for my husband –

White lilies, orchids and red roses.

I lay my bouquet in the dew-topped grass,

Lean against a peach tree,

Sink my teeth into its succulent fruit,

And run my fingers through the fleece of a lamb

Who nuzzles his wet nose into my warm flesh.

My lids close.

I listen to the four rivers

Whisper through the Garden.

Opening my eyes, I spot

A lion lying under a maple tree,

His thick mane like the golden rays of sun.

He gazes at the lamb and me,

But does not move.

A flash of red streaks through the sky –

A parrot lands on a branch of the tree,

Squawks, and with whish of wings

Takes flight.

With my bouquet, a parrot feather and a peach, I arise,

Toss hair away from face

And walk through the Garden to my husband.

I pick a piece of bark from a cinnamon tree

And sniff its pungent scent.

If

I had not met the serpent,

I would have given him

A sliver of cinnamon,

A bouquet of flowers,

One parrot feather

And a peach.