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.

This is a nice one. This poem leaves one with some kind of a longing and sadness.
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