The Garden

Release what strangles you.

Go pause now in your garden

to tend to all your sprites

and bask there without pardon

in the solitude of night.

By the shining of the moon

comes the dancing of the stars

twinkling to a foreign tune

that's playing from afar.

The creatures they draw out then

to stand next to your side.

You have passed by so often

but tonight they do not hide.

They're watching as you labor

over newly flowered dreams

and pruning without favor

The thorns ripping at your seams.

Your sprites hover there closely

suspended in the air.

They are puzzled and wary

of the burdens that you bear.

Penetrating both your eyes

with their lengthy, musing glance

they scream, "it's time to say goodbye,"

and you wake up from your trance,

and you gather up your items,

your trowel and your spade,

with a will that would so frighten

and start digging the grave.

The sprites gather the markers,

the creatures measure depth.

Below the ground it's darker

where your sadness can be left.

Mound up the earth atop it.

Cover it with a stone.

Leave it there as you see fit;

it's time now to head home.

Sprites begin to kiss your cheeks

the creatures say, "Fare well.

When is it that again we'll meet?"

But only time will tell.

So take your heart, collect your mind

and leave, your soul content.

Forget your troubles so unkind

and live life as is meant.

Til next you're in your garden

and tending to your sprites.

The End

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