The Hanging Gardens of Babylon

Paradisiacal beauty.

The scent of aloe, the taste of fruit:

a land of luxurious bliss.

 

Bricks that were glazed and blued

were part of the splendour:

a wealth in that hue - so rich and fine.

 

Green is a beautiful colour.

And who could ever be unhappy,

surrounded by emerald leaves?

 

The sound of trickling water

is a melody: it sings in the air.

Flow, make joy, my wonderful friend:

Nourish and nurture us all.

 

Tall are the date palms around me.

I climb one, delight in the view.

Was I ever this content before?

 

I stroll across sun-warmed patios:

pathways to a mystical land.

Yet what world inadequate holds this?

 

Stand on the uppermost terrace.

Sigh with the breeze that cools.

Happy are we in the Hanging Gardens.

  

The End

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