An ephemeral life had endured the shadows of dread,
In a garden where roses had once bloomed bright and red.
Petals, once vivid in sunlight’s warm caress,
Had withered and crumbled in spectral distress.
The sun, harsh and unforgiving, had scorched each bloom,
Turning vibrant splendour into a sombre tomb.
Moonlight, pale and ghostly, draped the garden’s decay,
Casting an eerie pallor where the flowers had lain.
The breeze, once gentle, had grown sharp and cold,
Whispered secrets of a beauty that death had told.
In the stillness of twilight, where shadows had crept long,
The garden lay haunted by a mournful song.
An ephemeral life of once vibrant blooms, now ghostly and frail,
Had bowed to the earth, and their colour had grown stale.
Each flower, a relic of a fleeting moment,
Had succumbed to darkness and the deafening silence.
The fountain, now stagnant, held the murky remains
Of water once clear, now a grave for the chains.
Its ethereal music had turned into a low groan,
A dirge for the blossoms that the grave had known.
The moon’s cold light revealed a macabre scene,
Where beauty had faded, leaving only the obscene.
The garden, once alive with intense happiness,
Had become a crypt in the embrace of night.
An ephemeral life, in the stillness that lingered, where shadows sank into the abyss,
The essence of life had yielded to dismiss.
An evanescent existence, now lost to decay,
Wandered through the garden where time had slipped away.
The sculptures, once regal, had frozen in their dismay and despair,
Silent custodians cloaked in the chill of the air.
Their features, carved in stone, tattered an expression of anguish,
Glimpses of the fading archaic dreams and praises.
An archaic ivy, creeping with tendrils so dark,
Had embraced the remains of a once glittering spark.
In the garden’s hushed sighs, the past had seemed to cry,
As the fleeting delight had faded beneath the sky.
An ephemeral life of what could no longer be redeemed from the doom of death.
Esther Elizabeth Racah
