Faded Magnificence.

Faded brush strokes and overgrown pots,
Hint to magnificence lost to yesteryear.
Garments preened and tailored to perfection,
fashioned upon the season to which they adhere.
Scruffy untamed edges gone awry,
A once was glory now hidden beneath the brambles,
scruffy untamed edges gone awry.
Suffocating elegance under weeds and ivy,
despair now heavy on the eye.
The sunny yet sharp disposition of the dandelion,
entangled yet proudly rearing its spiky crown.
Assuming nobility amongst the weeds,
refusing to have its regalia pulled down.
The cobbled path barely visible from the weathered door,
A secret path known only to the past.
The dainty old lady aged and weathered herself,
has given up the ghost, to the weeds which grow too fast.
Her hands tremble as in vain,
she tries to snip and trim.
Desperate measures to regain the beauty from her mind,
with unhelpful uncoordinated limbs.
Each day committed she treads the garden path,
into the gardens midst.
Wrinkled eyes adoring the last upstanding rose,
who continues to persist.
A full can sprinkled each day by trembled wrist,
intent on feeding it with love.
Scarlet periapt resplendence, which once the garden
in its entirety was reminiscent of.
Brambles snag her petticoat,
Tugging at her frail frame in a tug of war.
Yet refusing a helping hand she proudly remembers,
how beautiful her garden sang and the melody of both their core.
The old lady existing for these moments,
to which they are juxtapose.
Existing upon each others love,
the old lady and the garden rose.

©Helen Mackenzie