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The Mockery Garden

The girl, new, fresh;
         wandered innocently 
   through the mockery;
             the type the English 
      are so fond of building.
Fronds of false friendship 
brushed against her virgin skin
        leaving seeds of doubt 
  within her delicate folds,
        to be harvested;
                in time.
She was tempted
       by the alluring,
            plump, red fruit;
  whose juices now mingled
           with her blood
       upon the thousand
                tiny cuts
     their barbs had made.
And as she walked
            the brambles
      rustling whispers
                       of deceit 
 followed in her shadow.
She quickly turned around
            to find
         a glorious array
               of Gladioli
      their bright colors 
    embroidered by the sun;
                   in the breeze
bobbing their approval.

Copyright © Terry Miller

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Book: Reflection on the Important Things