My garden of friendship
Lovingly tended to
By a cautious gardener
The weeds are torn out
While my chapped lips scorn
Thorns embed themselves
In pale hands
Leaving scars
That sting to the touch
While wounds are bandaged
Forgotten flowers die
As summer sets
And winter rises
To arouse the wind
Petals drop like tears
The gardener cries
Those pretty little weeds
They love to lie
Pollen spreads
Seeds start anew
I pray for the
Beautiful few
The pubescent moon
Casts a glow
Over the now empty field
I rest my head
In the soft grass
Supported by the green blades
Of my relatives

The dirt muffles my anguish
As the weeds multiply
And the flowers die.