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Her Garden

She was often in her garden;
She was happiest when there—
Seems the marigolds were soothing,
And made less of her despair.

There was a time, if long ago,
When she smiled at the rain—
Cheerful in the face of fear;
Indifferent to her pain.

Her dearest friends took little heed,
Though as I recall I knew—
And yet I failed to act at all
For what was I to do?

Time, it was the culprit,
For it robbed her of her will—
Even so I blame myself,
And am bothered, even still.

In truth, though, it was loneliness;
Rather hope, her friends surmise—
The years were not the death of her,
Failing hope was her demise.

Now others tend her garden,
Some say she lingers there—
Seems the rose is now her heaven...
The wisteria, her prayer!

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019

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Date: 8/18/2019 10:41:00 AM
i must agree with Gershon, this one is hauntingly beautiful! you write wonderfully! :)
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Date: 8/2/2019 4:23:00 PM
So beautiful. So haunting. And so true, i.e., that failing hope is (often) the culprit. This is just outstanding, Kenneth. A FAVE for me
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Merrill  Avatar
Kenneth R. Merrill
Date: 8/3/2019 2:28:00 AM
Thank you my friend. I am honored by your insight and your skilled interpretation!!