The Garden


The Garden

Far below gardens of rock

And of withered rose

Where sunlight spills

Through a wall of crumbling stone

There are no flowers

No falling leaves

And blades of grass

Are trampled underfoot

Lost beauty

So much sorrow

Too much reflection

Shadows move across

The memories in my mind.

As the dawn clings to the night

The same red sun arising

If only its’ fragrance could remain

Yet it lies

Empty

Unbearable

Before me

And the memories come haunting

Where whispers

Lead to more whispers

And linger in the air

Like the remembered sigh

Of the one who is not here

Long enough to remind me

That you exist

Only in the silent paths of my heart

Bathed in sweet seclusion

Here, in this garden

With all its’ ghostly inhabitants

I understand

At once

The beauty of isolation

© Ann Bagnall and AnnieB222.com, 2015.

The exquisite garden dates back to the late 19th century when the aristocratic Caetani family took over lands deserted for centuries including Ninfa, a town that was abandoned in the Middle Ages. Photo: AFP
The exquisite garden dates back to the late 19th century when the aristocratic Caetani family took over lands deserted for centuries including Ninfa, a town that was abandoned in the Middle Ages. Photo: AFP

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