The Garden

This garden grows in rows The old soil is parched and hard Stripped of nourishment By time Headstones in a graveyard This garden grows in rows Sprung from seeds of despair Grown from consequence By design Gate broken beyond repair This garden grows in rows Watered by slow gray tears Tended with old love By thine A long black coach draws near This garden grows in rows The flowers mingle with the weeds Silence all surrounding By mine No one visits, cries or pleads