The gnome sits patiently protecting it’s lush lair,the bird sing pretty, the fish just be.
World surrounding quite fast it seems, or maybe it’s just the draft blowing the leaves.
It’s a tiny thing, this presence, but so large to some.
Wondering what to pacify or what to provoke, a cute laugh or a mean eye.
This land, this lair, this protector has always been there.
Garden prophet much has he become, telling all, and only telling some.
His resin mind, always closed to the outside, constantly seeks.
A motionless world experienced always in motion, through blades he sees.
His way, his life will never change.
As a perfect picture it will always be.