Like Father, Like Son

Like Father, Like Son

Check the mailbox and hope there’s no shower

For a flier to guide you through the bower.

Walk through the rustic wooden arbor

Enjoying the plants that gardeners barber.

Look at the intricate armillary sphere

That tells where the stars in the sky are near.

Rest a moment on the bench of stone

Where the flowers round it have grown.

Down the pathway, cross a bridge that’s nigh

And covers the stones that keep the path dry.

Pass under the trellis covered with a flower

Turn southward to seek the stone that made flour.

On the edge of the garden there’s a stone out of place

That once belonged in a mill race.

Find the hole where the gear used to wind

And see what you can find as you reach in behind.

 

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