Wednesday, May 12, 2010



I know the garden is left untended
to flower and die as you intended
an occasional trip down a row, maybe

Pulling a weed or planting a seed,
but I need a visit very badly indeed,
for I am dying at the root, you’ll see.

Earth is so dry, and I’m really trampled
foulest disappointment I have sampled,
but my pain is naught compared to others.

My core has shriveled, I’m barely a weed,
and perhaps I could lose even my seed,
don’t deserve help, but I’ve got my brother’s,

And my sisters too, they all have pitched in
have forgiven my wrongs, each and every sin
but only you can renew this field, to invigorate.

Just a tear from your eye could water the ground,
and soothe the root-pain, though I’ll still be bound,
I hope you can come soon, or it may be too late.

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