The Garden
She sat among the flowers
upon a high old hill
She was there for hours 
The purple sky was still

The sun kissed her face so fair
Warm winds blew through her hair
Every now and then a tear would fall
And land upon the garden wall

In her hand she held a note
He was gone. That's all he wrote
Slowly she rose from the ground
And started walking back to town

Now the hill is so much older
The flowers are gone from the hill
The wind now seems so much colder
And the purple sky is still.

Copyright © 2006 Lunaria (Lila May Guptill)