The Garden of Eden

Where sometimes I sit,
More often I sit,
Somewhere out here in the garden.

A Garden of Eden
Worn down and beaten,
Gone now all to seed and broken.

Where sometimes a bird
Will flit to the yard
Researching for bits to be eaten.

It riffs through the sheaths
Of fallen down leaves,
The sticks now of twigs in the garden.

Though only in song,
I think, if not wrong,
I can hear very clear what its spoken.

“I have been here,
Sometime somewhere,
There once was abundance in Eden.

But this isn’t it.
The place is not here.”
This, I declare I can hear in its singing.

“This garden’s worn out,
There can be no doubt,
This cannot be the Garden of Eden.”

And the bird flits away,
While here I still stay
And watch everyday, repeating.

In the garden I sit,
Nostalgic a bit,
For this was once it,

The Garden of Eden.

©2015, Marvin Welborn
5 February 2015

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