my garden, my habitual solace. but not at present. as protea, my hearts point, had not return. the gate untouched. my garden missing its lavender lush. i weep for you, protea..i weep for your abandoned tranquility.
i weep..
YOU ARE READING
protea
Poetry"her heart was a secret garden and the walls were very high." a flower, protea an admirer a past of pain a garden of rehabilitation a love soil deep Come see their journey
