The Secret Garden
The Secret Garden
The untold stories of the past,
Lurked and yearn for release,
As they peered through the cracks of cement.
Of creeps that lay out and hung unto the frame,
Strains of scarlet streaked across the walls,
The garden, once of great memories and joy,
Lies await of renaissance,
In fear of shambles,
And shunned bleakly by shams of the eye of heaven.
The aura of elegance it held,
Have been buried and bounded by truth of history.
*note: this is the starting entry of my attempt in poetry.feedback are welcome
