In the Garden of Life

I looked around the meadows green,

But the tree that caught my eye,

Was not the one with apples red,

But the one that was frail and dry.

The man who walked ahead of me,

Was fat, and slow, and round,

And the woman sitting on the bench,

Made the shrillest sound.

A lady in light peach frock brushed past,

And I wondered why she wore,

A dress that didn't suit her one bit,

She looked like someone from folk-lore.

As I moved around with cynical eyes,

In the garden full of life,

I was appalled to land my foot in dung,

And had my emotions running rife.

As I stood still in embarrassment ,

With kids laughing all around,

The fat, slow, round man came to help,

As did the lady who made the shrillest sound.

They handed me leaves from the frail, dry tree,

And also a water bowl,

Though when I scrubbed my shoe with them,

What was cleaner was now my soul.