I am the Storyteller

Give me a garden,
Fountain framed,
That breathes the air
My dawn exhales
And wilts the doubt
Of lesser realms
I am the Storyteller,
My ailing avatar

Give me a garden,
That men have grown,
With thier own true labour,
And Earth-given artistry,
Unchained by driving forces
Gears of expansion turn not within
I am the Storyteller,
My million muses

Give me a garden,
Of purest soil
Lest shackled crows distract the loyal,
And all encroaches
Crack the walls
The trees are old and thin,
They fall
I am the Storyteller,
My muse is grown too tall