A small garden sat on top of a hill,
greeted the morning suns and the evening chills
The nights were lovely,
moonlit flowers sang coyly
of love stories never told
till the lovers were old.
Ah secret love! ´Tis the nervous passion that
thrive in the young chests of every age.
The garden, too, had found a mistress in her heart
and let my words be marked,
the journey she faced was bitter'n hard.
A traveler.
Where golden leaves fell with the wind
he set his foot.
In the beginning of autumn,
the traveler stumbled upon the garden.
Whatever his quest,
a stranger is a guest.
With the ribbons tied to her dress,
the garden graced his visit,
genuine but watchful nevertheless.
A fortnight the garden nested the traveler,
for he was kind and generous with his treasures.
But as the last moon set for daylight,
the garden began to cry,
for the traveler was leaving
and taking
with him her most beautiful blossoms.
Where he swore an oath to return,
or let his soul burn,
the traveler left for lands foreign.
Many a day the small garden waited.
Many a year the small garden waited.
On a morn of flowering spring winds,
the traveler returned.
He had lost her blossoms on a stormy sea ride.
But returned, with flowers brought
from the other side.
