Garden of Sorrow

Reclusive she walks in her garden of sorrow
Cold rain pummels down on her soul
Rose petals bashed into earthly submission
But the thorns on the bush reach their goal

There’s a smell of wet linen and heartaches
‘Neath willows that sympathetically weep
Pauses a moment, pitifully tries to remember
Standing on the edge of that abyss so deep

A mocking bird croons, perched on his treetop
He’s sang to a thousand sad stories before
As her farewell tears hide in the raindrops
One last time recalling laughter and more

She washes down pills with raw whiskey
Lays down where he once promised her all
Knowing now that love is all too fleeting
and the cold rain continued to fall…