I walked through that silent garden;
In the past, it had many children.

I played with that abandoned swing;
Heard its loneliness sing.

Sat by those lost trees of yore ;
They were never just wood before.

Picked up a fallen petal;
Dead and dead, with a broken fettle.

Talked with the parched leaves in the grey;
They too had a thousand things to say,

Of broken glory and drying times,
Much like the decay of growing human lives.

I too will wither , I too will grow bleak,
From the song of the child to the silence of the weak.