Amid the rose garden, flowers wither,
the ground lay dormant and musty.
Beneath rotting roots, where worms now slither,
garden gate lay broken, rusty.
Here lies a tombstone weather-beaten, worn,
resting place of a lonely one.
Never found love, her heart shattered and torn,
laid to rest in the setting sun.
Now alone in death, as she was in life,
her grave overgrown, forgotten.
The prick of the thorn, remains of her strife,
yet roots underground lay rotten.
She graced the earth, giving so much love,
but alas it was all in vain.
Whispering winds, still beckon from above,
her voice still calling out his name.
Always searching for love, she wanders no more,
life lay wasted to plans and schemes.
She never found true love, only death's door,
rest in peace now shattered dreams.
Posted on 4/21/2007 5:50:23 AM
