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as i gaze upon wilted
flowers in my courtyard i see
that so many things now are
no longer as they used to be

the persistent bee
that sought so desperately
to draw sweet nectar
from those flowers thirstily

has since gone
to more fertile fields
from this garden
which no longer gently yields
its fond calm reflected hope

there is no song
no mirror appeals
unto me now
nail-scratched silver faded steels
weep aloud from ev’ry slope

i cannot look
upon the broken
concrete foot-blocks’
harsh tales long spoken

for fear that i might find
yet another crack there... somewhere
in jagged lines' unkind
trails that always lead to... nowhere

my feet no longer tread
the well-worn path
that without fail safely led
me to this place

my eyes no longer see
the hidden key
that unlocked the battered gate
into this space

into this hold
where kindest new life-giving warmth
was always found

no birds alight
the barren lifeless forlorn trees
there is no sound

now bitter cold
the rusted chair no longer holds
its weight from ground

i flee from sight
no mirror appeals to me now
the grass so brown

Copyright © Jeff Mason 2003

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As for "nail-scratched silver faded steels," that plays off the fact of the silver backing on mirrors. Remember, if you scratch the silver backing, the mirror no longer reflects in those places where it's been scratched; so, clearly, this sullen garden, this sad soul, has lost much of its reflectivity, its protection, it's shield.