decima

Untended Garden

A wilted rose with head hung low
Encircled in a wall of stones
Like weavings spun in golden tones
A tangled heap of weeds to show
Their stems were bent like archer’s bow
I wandered there by accident

And shook the gate till it relent 

I slammed it shut behind me there
Escaped to set about repair
And blessed in how my time was spent