My garden

My cherry blossom tree is not dead,

Though I’ve never seen it bloom till now,

The pastel pink floats through the air,

Landing softly in her short, dark hair.

My roses have never stood so straight,

With not even one to represent,

The past when every flower wilted,

Then died before they lived.

My ivy has never been so green,

Blending in amongst this scene,

It reflects her eyes up into the skies,

And the clouds are gone forever.

My oak that used to howl and moan,

Has lost its scratchy bark and bone,

It’s leaves now softer to the touch,

They resemble her oh so much.

My daffodils have never been so yellow,

And my hydrangea thrives,

It’s all strange and so surreal,

To see my garden come alive.



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