The Haunted Garden

I walk through the haunted garden
          of long ago,
Passing each dry, leaf covered bed where loving hands
          did once plant and hoe.

I sit here on an old stone bench
Wondering who was here last.
Was is a carefree child running past?
Lovers who held hands and kissed?
Or an older couple who reminisced?

But as I think and sit,
Many spirits by me flit.
Whispering tales of years come to past,
And singing songs of shadows cast.

Now I lay and close my eyes,
And join the rest who float and fly
Above the trees and in the garden
Whose lifetime wrongs have been pardon'd.

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Copyright © 2002-2006 Stephanie Vander Weide