Garden, Garden
Garden, Garden
Garden, garden,
mowed and swept,
Grasses green
and neatly kept,
Where oft
a languid lover wept,
To kiss and part
as nature slept.
Garden, garden,
where art thee?
No flower bloom
nor spreading tree,
'Tis shameful man,
technology
That didst undermine
thou beauty.
Garden, garden,
thine eyes are sore,
Upon the view
an ancient saw,
'Tis leaves of green
and turf no more
But iron machines
and men of war.
Garden, garden,
of you was said
That the sky was blue
and roses red,
But now young lovers
share their bed
With flowers, trees
and men, all dead.
© RJVHorton2015
Copyright © Robert Horton | Year Posted 2015
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