I pass an unkempt flower bed
Usually tidy with
Meticulously chosen colors
Healthy and hopeful,
Now weedy and wilting
I see a stoic bird bath
I wonder about the Keeper of the bed
Alone or lonely?
Distracted by Disease?
I glance at the billowing willow tree
Weeping for the dead,
Beside the blushing peach tree,
I whisper a prayer of mourning.
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Comments about this poem (Walking by Denise Read )
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