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Oh, sweet garden of death,
What secrets do you hold clandestine?
Gleam your glossed, dark leaves
And not a rose sprouts from a bush of thine's
Oh, sweet garden of death,
What hymns do you trill at night?
Your whispered words crystallize in the cold,
The heat of your words wither the daisy,
Melt the verglas of the hibiscus,
And the flame of your fire ignites the lotus.
Oh, sweet garden of death,
Why do you hide at the sight of the sun?
Are the lonely moon, its glistening glitter,
And the beating of my heart
Your only company?
Oh sweet garden of death,
Why do you welcome all petals with the frost of quietus?
Who's revenge do you take upon the velveteen blossoms?
The leaves quiver in your presence, yet the wind seems to freeze,
The sun repulses your sight, yet the moon-rays caress you to sleep,
The moss hugs you to ataraxy,
And I stand here on your lush viridian carpet,
Trace along your edge,
Falter to your shade,
As your viridescent attire,
Consumes my existence.
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