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Jul 2016
I always thought that weeds where flowers, planted by the fairy folk.
And the thorns blunt daggers, a secret inner joke.
Left for the ones that can remember a time when frogs still croaked.

The garden's beauty is mocking, the maidens only half fair.
A memory left over from a time when no one would dare...

The garden pool is half empty, you're smiles reflection's a glare.
The gardens bird feeders are now all snared, and every living creature must beware.

The garden is poisonous , the unicorns now a mare.
A bleak memory left over from a time cradled with care...

And every day is meaningless, and every thrones a broken chair.
Every bunny is stuffed, and out their run the orphaned hares.
Madeline Clow
Written by
Madeline Clow
458
   Autumn Rose and JDK
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