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The Garden

My sanctuary.
So changed from the childhood playground, with its wondrous zipline and trusty basketball hoop
is now dotted with fuchsia spurts and willow trees.
The oak is cut down,
a fountain in its place.
An alabaster sculpture feels surreal
Its all too perfect.
The grass that would never grow, despite my fathers attempts, now stands green and impassive.
A flower box takes the place of my basketball hoop.
I sit down on the grass,
and look at the place where I stood
smiling happily with my brother,
decked out in pirate attire,
on the edge of a wooden pirate ship.
I'm crying now.
I don't know why.
I touch the ivy,feeling the waxy leaves.
Even that feels fake now.




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