The ghost of Winara!

Follow the shadow to the bottom of the garden
Ferns and fuchsias conjuring it all up
Bricks esoteric cracks
darkened path forever

Down through the grassless ground
Where only moss would stick
To the Daytura at the base of the garden
Waiting for the shadows to return

Pray that sunset secures the light
pray that the gull never cries
That the trapdoor doesn't open
The ghost of the garden has no face

It runs through the flowers that crave the light
The ambitious bamboo that keep the side of the house dry

Old Arden glared out across his lawn
Pondering his existence
His thoughts plagued by pride and the past
The ghost escaped his sight

Entering the paint and strokes of that genius
The reality creator
The world ignitor
The affirmer of all colors and shades

No prison of good and evil to shut her in