The Dying of The Garden
Somewhere along the line it wasn't a fairy tale anymore. At first it was an occasional weed in her bed of roses. Then a petal turned brown. Little by little the roses began to wilt until one day they were all gone. They had become dusty images of what they once were only to blown away by the gentlist wind. Was I blind? How could I no longer notice the lingering scent of roses in the air? Was it my neglegent ways or denial of reality? I glance upon that empty garden with fond memories of petals tingling my toes in the Spring. But now the soil has gone bad and nothing can ever blossom there again.