The Garden

The Garden She sat among the flowers upon a high old hill She was there for hours The purple sky was still The sun kissed her face so fair Warm winds blew through her hair Every now and then a tear would fall And land upon the garden wall In her hand she held a note He was gone. That's all he wrote Slowly she rose from the ground And started walking back to town Now the hill is so much older The flowers are gone from the hill The wind now seems so much colder And the purple sky is still. Copyright © 2006 Lunaria (Lila May Guptill)