4. The Garden

Dear the Misses Malia and Sasha Obama or To Whom It May Concern:

I know where the garden lies;
Where every tiny firefly
Tricks the stars to fall in love --
Makes them think they're just above --
With the burning flames of night
Burning with the same bright light.
I know where the garden lies
Covered with those fireflies.

In the garden, there's a rose
Sweet to every creature to pose;
Stand beside the flower's bloom,
Bright even in darkest gloom.
Few to view the serenade;
Few to hear the songs it makes.
In the garden there's a rose
Found by few, and loved by those.

I knew where the garden lies,
Fell in love with the fireflies,
Visited the lonesome rose
As it sang the song, I posed;
Stood beside all its beauty
All the fireflies did see
I knew where the garden lies
Fell in love through my young eyes.

I’ve now written at least one letter to your mother and father and felt I should write one to you girls, as well. I don’t particularly know where my letters go when I write them, I only know that I am writing and that it may be of some interest to the receiver. I thought that out of all the people in the White House, you two would like a poem the most.

And if you’re not into poetry, that’s perfectly fine! Consider this a salutation from a citizen who wanted nothing more than to make you smile.

But – if you are into poetry: The poem is about a young girl who stumbled upon a little garden. It’s a sweet-smelling place, full of life and freedom and liberty. There are trees and birds and butterflies, a rope-swing hanging from a tree nearby. It’s calming and peaceful here. The sun always shines.

The little girl loved the garden, and visited it frequently. The fireflies welcomed her with soft kisses of light. Suddenly a cool night spread across the grass, the garden, and the swing. It was the first time she’d ever seen the garden as anything but bright, but she did not mind. The fireflies would fly up and up and up – almost reaching the stars – before turning and flying back to the girl, whom they had come to love. It was a soft darkness, the kind in movies where true love shines.

One day she found a rose – the only one in the entire tiny garden. She stayed with it all day, sitting beside it in the shade of the surrounding plants, until the softest of nights returned. The rose opened in the darkness – out fluttered the petals in a wonderful array of colors – every color of the rainbow, shimmering and shifting on the rose. The girl imagined the shifting colors matched a tune to a song. Every time it changed, a new note would sound, and so she hummed the Rose’s Serenade.

But as the girl grew older, the garden was harder and harder to find. Eventually the walls disappeared at her touch. She would see the rose and the fireflies no more. She remembers the garden, though, to this day – and passes on her story to anyone who will listen, waiting for another little girl who will love the garden as much as she. Only someone with as strong a love as she will ever find it.

Best wishes and truly sincerely,

L., a spinner of words at your command