Over hills and into valleys,
Out of valleys, over hill,
Let’s together go over them all:
This one shallow, low, and wide
With bright, white daisies on either side;
That one low but comparably steeper –
Dandelions and forsythia meet winged creatures;
This one climbs higher, barely without grass,
Where the gladioli and poppies bloom for the crass;
That one hardly a hill, with holly and hydrangea,
Yet hidden behind are iris and viscaria;
This one is wide, but the high trek to take
Is worth it to see the rose bloom and daffodil break;
That one is narrow, steep, and rocky,
Ambrosia taken over by snapdragon’s posse.

You’ve interrupted to ask why I bother to look.
I say admire and stare at the rest:
This one, much grassier, grows full, thick trees
Where blooms camellias, gardenias, violets, and palm leaves;
That one rolling into a pack
Painted with carnations, sweet pea, and smilax;
This one, gorgeous, is encircled by
Zinnia and tulips that grow toward the sky.

We’ve past them all and made it here
Where azaleas and jonquils grow as they please
And orange blossoms stand in our way
And primrose is followed by lilies and leaves –
But what about the other? pointing you say.
That one, reaching higher than the rest,
Is not ready for us, is reserved for the best.
I see camphire, nothing further for now.
We’ll have to wait to approach that mound.