It used to be a garden with
daisy chains and flower beds,
a little girl with a flower crown,
laughter in the air and butterflies around.
Then came the storm,
it stole the charm.
The once innocent girl lost her sight,
warm eyes turned cold as ice.
It was then guarded by razor blades
and the sky had darkened a couple shades,
no longer the breathtaking sight of flower beds.
This little girl was now made of stone,
the happiness had been withdrawn,
and along with the garden,
the innocent, once-happy girl was gone.