Garden-Song

The world carries a soft perfume today,
One that sneaks up on the senses
From a distance,
Dancing in on the rustling breeze
As if from the silk of skirts
Bent as ladies laughed
During elegant teas
Taken in gardens long grown over
And gone to seed
With lacy ghosts

Their genteel murmurs come to us,
Still sung,
On the lazy breath of June