Painting by Sergey Svetoslavskiy
I know an abandoned garden,
Loud with rippling birdsong,
Rampant with wild growing things,
And the nodding heads of dog roses.
They say the place is empty,
But I know it is full of ghosts
Of the planters and the tenders
That shaped a garden from the mud.
The hands that dug and delved,
That loved and lived,
Are long gone,
Back into the cradle of the earth,
Quiet lives lost somewhere along the way.
Lives are lost but souls drift,
Drift among the flower stalks,
The daisies and the dog roses,
And on summer evenings,
They listen with me to the blackbird’s song.