Garden of Her Life

A girl snips the vine from her rose head and watches it fall to the ground.
So has the death and decay of the rose started, it is greatly reflecting the surroundings.
She prunes and straightens her rose bushes so everything is symetrical and sound.
Still something about this garden has struck a weird sense, like a sick sense of meldings.

She walks back towards the house, leaving the garden as a reflection of her life.
Everything in it reflected exactly the way she leaves things if life, dead or dying.
She passes by the shrubs that seem to rapid receed, she touches a tulip, instantly withered in strife.
Everything begins to reflect her life as present and future as if breaking, unwinding, and untying.

Her garden seems to be quickly but neatly done, vast in size, scouring in quantity.
Nothing seems to exist in tranquility for long, good at the plant bad at the fruition.
Her problems are visible through the layout and schematic positioning of her flower's vanity.
Her decisions seem to lack one thing that the garden does as well, intuition.

She is to trusting, entrusting and self perserving.
Nothing is put into risk and nothing into prejudice.
Strangely there seems to be no room for sucess or triumph in her reserving.
Everything seems to fail, die, and blossom to wilt in the enshadowing mist.

No tear she sheds though, no glances back, no regret or remorse.
Never fearing the death or failure of her seeds.
Failing to bestow hope in prosperity and never in glory, not even by force.
Her plantings seem to reflect her lifely deeds.

Sad though that in her life nothing she has done has ammount to anything beautiful or meaningful.
Strange her reaction and perserverance through out a life time of failure.
Great esteem and determination to continue and strive towards the inevitable.
However, curiousity now enters mind as we see one blossom hidden by the wilting and pasteur.

Bewilderment if self knowledge of a jewel, hint and proof of triumph eludes her mind.
Then again, lost and disbanded might they be, so she doesn't shed mist and wilt upon it, enflooding her mind with guilt.