The patience of gardens

The enclosed garden had a peaceful air.

Nothing untoward could happen there.

The irises are famous and diverse

No thorns to prick the finger or to curse.

We sat beneath the tree still holding hands

And let the peace  we felt on us descend.

But now I am alone I feel despair

Where now shall I love, where shall I care?


We cannot love another till we find

A felt connection to the heart and mind

When we’re anxious we cannot perceive

The mind and feelings shuttered may deceive.

Patience is so hard when we feel sad.

The tears in our own eyes make us feel bad

I welcome comments and criticism

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