Abandoned

My Grandfather's garden.

Abandoned

Silent, creeping, tendril fingers
Reaching up to grasp
The sunlight,
Delving downward
Seeking growth,
Unrelenting in its purpose
The undergrowth
Moves ever on.
Earth-bound oaks
Stand helpless, watching
Endless trails,
Silky, green,
Cocooning all
In woven silence,
Thorny briars
Deter the bold.

Flora watches,
Carved in stone,
Her tender charges
Trampled low.
Colours bleached
As light is stolen
From blossoms lost
In deepening gloom.
The dancing bee
Laments their passing
While moving on to
Pastures new,
Rain falls softly
Through their bindings
But thirst is constant
Nights are cold.

Chairs that once
Gave shaded solace
Now rusting silently
At peace,
Flaking paint like
Falling petals
Rusted white on
Russet brown,
The garden swing
Marks passing minutes
Moved, as breezes
Come and go, where
Childrens’ laughter
Once had echoed
Through the trees
Alas no more.