I walked a garden lined with years, where every leaf was edged in tears.
The roses bloomed with fleeting grace, each petal a memory I could trace.
The fountains whispered secrets old, their waters silver, bright, and cold.
I traced the paths where shadows play, and felt the weight of yesterday.
The trees held faces I once knew, their branches bending with a hue
Of laughter, loss, and moments spent, all folded deep within the scent.
Yet through the thorns, a subtle light, a fragile spark against the night.
Though time may steal and seasons wane, the garden keeps its quiet reign.
And when I leave, the gates still stand, its lessons etched by patient hand.
The garden grows where memories climb, a tender bloom within all time.
