In the former royal garden
Sad and listless we walk round:
Crumbling statues time won’t pardon,
Roses all dug from the ground.

And the pond, so still and grey,
Seems slowly iced over with frost,
The palace has crumbled away,
The keys that gave access are lost.

The pavilion where lovers once fled
To hide from the light’s fierce glare,
Has gates locked and blinds drawn instead,
Like a morgue. We wander there

Down paths whose course is obscure,
Resting on a seat’s stone shelves,
Feeling ourselves betrayed
By the past where we once felt secure,
Seeking peace in each other’s shade,
Caressing in spite of ourselves.