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
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