The Garden

Wandering through a garden of white,
alone but in the company of many,
respectively stepping ever so lightly.

In the autumn's glimmering moonlight
I read many passages carved in stone,
aloud, but barely above a whisper.

Covered and weathered by time,
I clear countless pages,
faded as their memories.

Glimpses into their past,
tales of those too young,
and those so old.

While searching for answers
I stare in wonder and uncertainty,
with hopes for an eternal future.

On a future crisp autumn evening
those who enter a garden of white,
shall know of my existence.