The Garden

By J.Lynne Moore

 

Enter now the flowered bed,

That held our bones the night we wed.

Winter laps at petals soft;

Cynical, the sun, at or love has scoffed.

 

Tender stems now break away;

My heart smashed, dust of clay.

One last time, let mercy flow,

And taste my soul before you go.

 

Wilted now the flowered bed,

The love that tended it, is dead.

Winter’s chill claims this garden plot,

The flowers have melted all to rot.

 

Leave me here with this flora, frozen…

Move ahead on the path you have chosen.

I will not leave the flowered bed again,

I close my eyes and remember when…

 

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