The world is sadly sick, they say, <br />And plagued by woe and pain. <br />But look! How looms my garden gay, <br />With blooms in golden reign! <br />With lyric music in the air, <br />Of joy fulfilled in song, <br />I can't believe that anywhere <br /> Is hate and harm and wrong. <br /> <br />A paradise my garden is, <br />And there my day is spent; <br />A steep myself in sunny bliss, <br />Incredibly content. <br />Feeling that I am truly part <br />Of peace so rapt and still, <br />There's not a care within my heart . . . <br /> How can the world be ill? <br /> <br />Aye, though the land be sick they say, <br />And named unto pain, <br />My garden never was so gay, <br />So innocent, so sane. <br />My roses mock at misery, <br />My thrushes vie in song . . . <br />When only beauty I can see, <br /> How can the world be wrong?<br /><br />Robert William Service<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-garden-3/
