The Prismatic Eden

In realms where silence gently gleams, a garden sleeps, beyond our dreams.

Where emerald leaves are carved of ice, and sapphire petals, sharp and nice.

Each bloom a prism, pure and bright, catching the sun's forgotten light.

They drink the dawn with silent thirst, and myriad rainbows gently burst.

No scent they offer, soft and sweet, no buzzing bee, no hurried feet.

Just crystalline perfection stands, untouched by time, or mortal hands.

A frozen grace, a whispered art, a silent beat within the longing heart.

The crystal garden, cold and deep, secrets of starlight it does keep.