In The Garden Of Love. Poem by Antonio Williams

in the garden of love, i picked a fruit.
it looked so good, that you could smell its taste.
you could go on disagreeing that underating,
probably on the day of site seeing.

i hid in the dark, where thieves don't lurk
i rolled it over and over, coz i could not get enough,
and i did it... i swear i drunk its juice,
coz i had missed that: the drink of my choice.

every season is a good season, she's never touchy,
she is like a flower at the time it blossoms,
she abides by the rule: the golden rule,
and after all these years, there is no replacement.