The Last Garden

In a world of gray and measured days,

Where concrete rules and steel obeys,

There lies a garden, hidden well,

Where broken colors go to dwell.

The silver daisies chime like bells,

The blue rose weeps its sad farewells,

The ivy climbs where walls should be,

In colors that the world can't see.

The city's children, pale and wan,

Who've never seen a real dawn,

Sometimes slip through cracks and holes

To feed their hungry, color-starved souls.

They come with eyes of muted shades,

From sterile rooms and concrete glades,

And in the garden's gentle light,

Their eyes learn how to be bright.

They touch the petals, soft and strange,

And feel their inner colors change,

The grayness washes from their skin,

As real life dares to begin.

The garden keeper, old and wise,

With rainbows dancing in her eyes,

She tends each bloom with loving care,

And plants new colors in the air.

"For every shade the world forgets,"

She whispers as the sun down sets,

"A new one blooms here in this space,

To keep the light in human race."

So if your world turns pale and cold,

And you feel ancient, tired, and old,

Just close your eyes and you might find

The garden waiting in your mind.

Where silver chimes and blue roses weep,

And colors from their slumber leap,

To paint your dreams and light your way

The garden's there to save the day.