A mysterious place is a garden.
Communing with past golden echoes
its fairy-world beckons
in every plant that knowingly
hears presence as it's memory grows.
Fragrance cradled in walls' bygone ages
calls to put present away
while walks among trees express
deeper the spell of phantom possession.
Voices in pools will elusively chatter
in trickles of previous laughter
if we, after hearing will duly listen
with ears that recognize mere whispers.
Secrets arising from long-lost love
grip the spirit with coveted
moans to stir distinctive attention
when such ghostly-gardens are entered.
Sentiments ooze from ground-mist
once used for clandestine trysts,
gone-ones know treading gently eases
grief left and respects a garden of dreams.
