In the garden of love,
Where pink and purple petunias grow, I go,
To hush the yearning of my heart for your blue eyes,
Beneath my feet the cold, wet blades of grass defencelessly fold,
Above, the misty air falls, just below the trees,
Seem more blue than green at this still hour,
Besides the lowing of a cow,
An audible breeze, a symphony of birds,
In this garden where I stand,
Wrestling with fate through hot tears,
My furrowed brow casts long shadows,
Over families of daisies and pristine buttercups,
Yes, now, reflections are triggered in my mind,
Of a photograph, so old,
A moment in time,
Yet, now, my neck aches, my eyes descend,
To an undefined spot of unremarkable significance,
In this garden,
Where I waste so many hours thinking of you.

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