In the briar meadow
Where the wind swings long and low,
Is the memory of a hidden path
Little women may not know.

The rancid smell of Crimson paint
Of Cupid's Scarlet Bow,
Scars its victim one by one,
A branding iron's foe.

It seals the fate of little girls
Before they come to be,
Who hide themselves to kindly peek
Upon the doe of The Briar Patches' knee.

The sweet sweet savor of blackberries
Growing wild along the lane
Delay return as all consumed
The berries from Orchid Lane.

The Whisper of the Willow Trees
That hide the Sacred Kiss
Loft the Billowing Sounds
Of a young lovers' hopeful wish.

But fate has never faltered
A Secret only the Willow know,
Why the Holy Crimson stain
Drips upon the Briar's doe.

Now the Garden only fills
The air of aged chills
Of a yearnings' life that only once
Thorned it's lovely ills.

Scarlet hushed the haunting Whispers
Made upon the Briar's Patch
While Cupid's proof kept itself softly
Far beneath the Willow's match.

Scarlet's quilted choker
Swinging in the breezy wind
Tell the blessed beauty's life
Of a dearly devoted friend.

Life once so treasured,
Now so very long ago
Leave the only trace upon The Garden's Lot
In the evenings' glow.