Wild Order in the Garden
A garden fence, a gilded space,
Where pheasants gather, proud in grace.
They shine in coats of rust and gold,
Their elegance both bought and bold.
But who has caged, and who is free?
The pattern hides its symmetry.
The boy delights, the woman beams—
Two forms, two ages, merged in dreams.
No logic here, no social code,
Just joy erupting down the road.
The soul, when innocent and wise,
Knows every kiss is a disguise.
