Bianca Broglia
As the gravel crunches under my feet,
Low-baring branches swinging in the breeze.
Rocks line the path where the water will meet.
White fluffy clouds in the sky blow with ease.
With moisture suffocating the spring air,
And shrubbery attacks the ground I walk,
I manage to be in my own green lair.
Listening close, I hear the river talk,
And the birds begin to sing cheery tunes.
Humming along to their sweet happy song,
I watch as the flowers begin to bloom.
The path that I travel may seem long,
But every time I find my happiness,
I find my greenhouse grows with liveliness.