The Garden

The Garden

Far below

Gardens of rock and withered rose

Sunlight spills

Through a wall of crumbling stone

There are no flowers

No falling leaves

Blades of grass are trampled underfoot

Lost beauty

So much sorrow

Too much reflection

Shadows move across

The memories in your mind

As the dawn clings to the night

The same red sun arising

If only its fragrance could remain

Yet it lies empty and unbearable

Before you

The memories come haunting

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 you that they exist

Only in the silent paths of your heart

Bathed in sweet seclusion

Here in this garden

With all its ghostly inhabitants

You can understand

The beauty of isolation

© Ann Bagnall  Edited 2020.

One thought on “The Garden

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