Lovely garden of life now overgrown with woody thorn bushes,
by Christine K. Trease
my mortal breath means nothing to you now.
You realized me when I was young and renounce me in my aging.
Overtaken by fields of goodbyes, the sustenance of my life
has left me alone now to wither with age and wrinkle without the waters of youth to revive me.
Although you try, you cannot thieve away the moss-covered dreams
of devilish delight that continue to gratify me.
The young hand that once picked my fate, now seals my doom
with its crooked fingers, pricked with bloody harshness.
Afford me a pause in my lifeless ends to preserve my
garden of memories in hopes that I may look upon them once more.
Where I go, I have not the assurance that I may view them
at will, and not seeing the felicitous visions of my memories
would be a fate of blackness that I could not bear.
My uncut roots will soon be severed
as the hour of my leaving is upon us,
but tarry with me for this moment in time with hopes that my
garden of memories may be preserved in my mind and the
love of live be carried away with me in my soul.