The Gardeners Garden

Brick walls imprison me in the garden
Weeds laugh at the roses that used to live
Rusty shovels now hide in the dead leaves
The gardener who once lived is buried with his love
His rocking chair is now home to thorns
I can only dream of what it used to be
A place of beauty, a garden of love
But slowly with time all has faded to death
Even the doves have been replaced with ravens
Untamed weeds of death live strong
Oh, what a place this must have been
Why not return it to its former state?

So I pick up an old shovel, and plant it deep in the ground
On all fours I pull weed after weed
The living dead cut my hands
But still I work on, for the beauty of this garden
Dreams of what will be, keep me strong
Days and nights I work for the past gardener
I plant new flowers, and the ravens leave
Butterflies now fill the wind with color
I draw water from the well for the love of this home
I pull thorns from the wicker chair
And sit to look what my hands have done for love
Todays beauty will be in my heart always