Greeted by rows of strangers,
Busily, clumsily, moving forward.
A congested traffic jam from cars that slow,
More than an injured ram.
The pedestrians clog what remains open,
Halting the world to a complete stop.
Beyond the gates,
Gardens patiently await.
Fresh flows greet one’s nose.
A water fountain towers above,
Its water rushing down.
Palm trees and local baum,
Rise even higher,
Gathering around.
A glance from a grassy hill,
Reveals fields of flowers,
Sporting a variety of colors.
They are certainly a culprit of the smell,
That met and plowed into the nose.
Orange daffodils surround the pollen troupe.
Then arising from another patch of flora,
Are several windmills from Holland.
The only thing missing,
Are the tulips.