There are weeds and grasses growing now, Where the roses used to be. The trees are wild and wanton, Where once flowers bloomed fair and free. A wild woodland, a rank and rampant waste. The verdant vegetation has long forgotten, The gardener and his toil that gave them birth. Alas, its creator, Has long since departed this neglected domain. Much time has passed though the land remains, For still the ground is a green and growing thing, For the soil has seen many a long winter, And the returning miracle of spring. Time flows, sunrise, seasons come and go. Like the turning tide from midsummer's heat, To deep winter's ice and snow. But look on this wonder, The once passion and the pride. The gardener has long since turned to dust, But see my friend, How the earth abides.