The Poet’s Garden
It turns out, your spiderweb was thin,
nothing but cobwebs, easily brushed within.
I heard my name in your sleeping sigh,
but I reside in my garden, where poets lie.
The memories linger, like Polaroids unseen,
undeveloped and faded, like a love unclean.
I tend the garden, where words are the key,
and in the silence, my heart is free.
In the morning dawn, where shadows softly appear,
I’ll cultivate the beauty that was once so dear.
The garden’s tranquility heals the heart’s pain.
and in its beauty, love and peace remain.
Stephanie Ford, M.S. Applied Language and Cultural Studies, has been learning German for over 10 years. She currently teaches German and English and specializes in second language acquisition. It’s no secret that her passion lies in breaking down language barriers and making languages accessible to all.