Life's most precious toil.

At the top of the valley was a garden, overgrown and never seen.

The layover enriched with ivys evergreen,  below the surface no one knew, there was a brace of colours shown.

The years went by and still it stood in shaded coverage all alone.

Whereas the light lay bleeding into the depths of overgrowth,  stimulating the new born colours as a divining oath.

Pink roses took to the skies and reached the surface gleaming true, the bluebells and the dandelion captivate the view.

The daffodils all reached the surface opening up against the sky, the garden found a new born courage, I tell you this is why.

Sometimes life is arranged to form a coverage that we so often need, the ivys evergreen folage protected every seed.

The garden stood below the blues, reflecting back it's beauty shown,  it did not wither ,It did not die, and neither stands alone.

Often it's the wildest flowers 
Whom come to grace the earthly soil, and shelter then the innocence of life's most precious toil.