Gardens on the River *

On the way to the River

We had always that few stray huts
To pass by, fishermen where live,
At the margin of the town,
They had nothing more
Than an unkempt form
Of garden, wild,

When we used to, them,
Pass by, we would eavesdrop,
Sometimes, driven by childish whims,
Watching and loving them,
As if they belonged to us,

Those fishermen,
Living at the fringes
With their garden Natural,
Wild,

Sometimes we chanced to see,
Young maids taking children to the River, dragging them,
They all , as if part of the landscape,
Green, young, bright,
Merged like colors of
Love
Painted on a huge canvas,

Fencings of bamboo sticks and canes,
How they made with much care,
There they cared to grow,
Vegetables, cauliflower, beans, tomatoes, chillies, spinach leaves,
Coriander,
Garden on the River
They how wonderous made,

Those people living at the fringes,
How we oft them saw,
Mixed with Nature,
Wild and raw. (*Note: loosely based on a painting as attached, done by Brunhild Schwertner;

Courtesy : Keith Linwood Stover, Iulia Gherghei,

#GardensontheRiver: the title of the scribbling/poem is inspired by the title of the painting as attached, bearing the title "Gardens on the River Main by Volkach")

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