koolbeanzzzz Hi there,

The poem was written by my daughter about my garden. Here is the poem:

"I watched them fall from knotted honeysuckles:

bead glass,

collecting in puddles of satin
fireflies and silk moths.

A spiders threaded amber stars
to the hem of dusk,

while I was twined in the leaves
of a garden,

among the cobbled stones
strewn with sun and rain."

The bench was placed against the wall later and so the last line is covered. Someone commented about that one time, but, my answer is that sometimes you have find the perfection in the imperfection. I cannot paint over my daughter's poem. I am sure you understand.

Have a great day!