I Dream Of Gardens

The glass door to your garden is covered in mist.

I try to break through but I cut my soft fists.

The roses and daffodils breathe in synchrony

While the hives in my mind calmingly sing to me.

Yes, you might even blame my tunnel vision

But I watered your flowers despite the incisions.

The dread in my face screams it is far too late

To talk me out of freezing by your glass gate.

One day they will wonder – why did she stay

Crushed under the pages she used to tear away.

Yet – they will never hear how your garden died

That night we uncovered all the parasites.

There goes another decade my remains rot away

Right by the blossoms turning sickly grey.

The glass door to your garden is covered in mist,

It is nothing but a mirror for those who you miss.