Does anyone know me here?
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Through the padlocked gate I glimpse the coverlet, green with blue and purple, and pinks rising from an earthy bed.
The solid stone wall, mostly off to one side, stood passive, as in days long past, and seemingly stoic yet, in its utility.
All, guardians of memory in their way, garden, gate and wall.
Two anemic benches sat, for now, off to one side of that padlocked Gothic arched gateway.
Both, waiting to serve and neither then to remember nor yet to forget.
Save for those mouldy plaques, that someone left, in some sort of rememberance of someone, now gone.
As I alike, await my turn - to be forgotten; yet - still, even now half gone, as ghostly memories flick at the edge of my vision.
And that of others perhaps, on some sunny day or when touched by the chill of a Winter’s breeze, to catch a fleeting memory.
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