That blows my soul’s ridges,

The dry leaves of the withered tree of your love

Falls upon the lonely cracked earth of our garden

We are covered in brown dust; the color of desolation,

The hay of forgetfulness enshrouds my mind,

The debris of memories

Ploughing through dry weeds of love,

My heart is now a mere shadow of its being

Where, through this misery, is our vegetation?

Raindrops, teardrops

Make the soil of my soul fertile

Where the seeds of loneliness

You have sown in my heart

Blossom in lush green stagnation

The plants yield their crops

To melancholy’s thrill

Where the thorns choke the shoots of happiness,

The rodents, pests and parasites feed fat

Until the ghosts arrive to reap their harvest of green damnation.