In the garden of heather a vast abundance of foliage covers forsaken grounds.
Changing from white to pink, shades of purple, and red,
to distinguish winter from spring.
Light seeps through the trees absorbing the ground below it.
Moss gathers and transudes through the cracks
of the dated archaic stone.
In the garden of heathers the silence is unheard.
The flowers are wilted and the candles have burned,
because a pretty face doesn't matter when your deceased.