Our country is a garden.
The people are the flowers.
And our army men are the
strong green stems* ~

I used to have a lover
He played guitar in his little band;
And I’d lose myself in his song
And I loved what he did with his hands

I swear, it was only him I’d see
And to his steady rhythm my heart would sing
Sweet melodies; only for him
As I watched his sweet fingers
Dance with the strings

I haven’t seen him in a while
It’s funny how things change
His new melodies, I didn’t recognise
Our rhythms, no longer the same

And as he played with new found intention
My heart learnt a dance of its' own
But still; even so, I hope today
That his sweet hands play on...

I hope today,
That his
Sweet hands
Play on.