The Garden

A path revealed

neath rich black soil

a hidden glimpse at

long gone lives:

a pair of gloves

some rusty shears

a wild rose tree

says ‘they’ were here.

The garden wakes

in summer song

the blackbird cruises

dew drenched lawn

the shades of those

who’ve gone before

shimmer glimmer

disappear.

Here you & I

are passing through

plant golden apples

of the sun

the cherry blossom’s

sweet caress

shows how we stood

& paused a while

then turned our backs

we too are gone.