There

In a corner of a secret garden
where the viscaria and and honeysuckle
once bathed their beautiful, delicate flowers
in the summer breeze,

there,
beyond the fading red roses and delicate blue forget-me-nots
between the white anemone and primroses
hidden by agapanthus
but marked by perennial marigold,

there,
in the dark, dank soil
irrigated with tears,
in a lonely, shallow grave
you may find me,
if you wish,
just where you buried me.

© David B – February 2005