In a garden full of torches
I walked around.
I had been dreaming -
dreaming of being found.
The garden was alive;
She had a name;
She was the rose rain hit against.
The softened thorns on her roses,
her nice cruelty
made me see someone in her
she could not be.
I woke up and the skies were on fire
the garden was lit so I
ran out through the patch,
'cause I couldn’t find the aisle.
© in 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem