Rex Mathew Mathew
I walked through that silent garden;
In the past, it had many children.
I played with that abandoned swing;
Heard its loneliness sing.
Sat by those lost trees of yore;
They were never just wood before.
Picked up a fallen petal;
Dead and dead, with a broken fettle.
Talked with the parched leaves in the grey;
They too had a thousand things to say,
Of broken glory and drying times,
Much like the decay of growing human lives.
I too will wither, I too will grow bleak,
From the song of the child to the silence of the weak.
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