Sta.sh
There is a meadow near the house
on Lily Street.
It is the place of the gardener
who trims the flowers and the wheat.
Often times I wondered of
The sweet-smelling air
Then I found roses on the doorstep
Of the house near that flower affair
I found the gardener in her drab dress
And gave her the white roses
She denied them, twice
Then when back to her plain prose
The flowers grew about
In their bridal dresses and gowns
But the gardener's hands
Remained dusted from the ground
I watched as she clipped the petals
The broken twigs and branches
As she kneeled beside the irises
Reviving life in the sovereign stances
A morning came and went
Again, I had returned with poem
And presented her the roses
But twice, she denied them
I sat on the limbs of the old tree
As I looked upon her figure
Her standing posture was crooked
Amongst the beautiful flower moor
I found myself growing with age
As I slept within the tree
Then I awoke to a frightening sound
Of crows made of ivory
The gardener had vanished
The only placid things left
Within that barren field
Was a hat and a broken lilac
I picked up the lilac
And placed it my bouquet
Of roses denied, quadrice
And left the crow's ballet
There was a meadow near the house
on Lily Street.
It was the place of the gardener
who trimmed the flowers and the wheat.
| Deviant Login | Shop | Join deviantART for FREE  |
Take the Tour  |
