Wasteland of my heart
where no flowers grow
past glory has faded
splendour has ceased to glow.


In my youth
my heart was a lush green field
where birds came to rest and sing
love I planted and to its beckoning happily I did yield.

In my manhood years that came too soon
weeds insidiously crept in--smudge gathered
on the once fertile ground-
all the flowers withered

And all that's left
is this wasteland--parched and desolate-
that my weary heart
seeks to forget.