The gardener sows the garden rows, until the evening knows no more. Beneath the Californian skies, a tapestry begins to rise.
The soil, a canvas rich and dark, Holds secrets of each seedling's spark. In rows aligned with nature's hand, A symphony of colors stands.
Ruby reds of roses bloom, their petals whisper sweet perfume. Sunflowers, tall as summer dreams, Glow golden in the sun's bright beams.
Lavender fields in gentle waves, their fragrance dances, softly saves. The purples deep, the blues so rare, Each hue a story in the air.
In verdant greens, the vines do creep, Through endless days and nights of sleep. The tender shoots of emerald shine, Promise fruit on future vine.
Daisies white, with centers gold, A tale of innocence they hold. Their faces turn to greet the dawn, with every new day, freshly drawn.
Orchids in their pinks and whites, in twilight, come alive with lights. Their petals, soft as whispered dreams, Reflect the moon’s elusive gleams.
And in the rows of fertile earth, Life springs anew, a constant birth. The gardener’s hands, with gentle grace, Transform the land, a sacred space.
Each row, a verse in nature’s song, A melody that plays so long. In California’s warm embrace, the garden grows, a timeless place.
From dawn till dusk, in colors bold, the garden's tale is softly told. In every petal, leaf, and vine, A story woven, line by line.
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