Collette Anne Kearns
The Lost Garden
Shocked, I stood by the front gate in July,
full, bountiful month of summer.
Was this the same garden I had immortalised
in print and photograph, many times over?
Just memories on paper now, and lucky that.
This had become a cemetery for flowers.
A small army of weeds and grass marched
determinedly across the perennials,
laying waste to the still-struggling baby blooms that had self-seeded, hoping for sun-kissed encouragement.
There was an absence of birdsong, and where were the butterflies?
I wanted to cry when I stepped into the middle of the rose ...