I'll be back to pull the garden.
Spring has proven winter cruel.
And all of summer's beauty lies there rotting.
Stripped like yours from you.
And I know I
Can't stand remembering
The dirt
Under our fingernails.
The silence,
Your defense;
Tired over
Tired hand.
And we spent December
Given our best shot at hating;
But now,
As I remember,
We had no reason
To abuse.
I'll force God to notice
That He is giving nothing back.
And all of us were wet out in the boneyard;
He washed the tears from you.
And I know you
Deserve none of this,
My distance
As we stole flowers
From his grave.
The silence,
My defense;
Tired over
Tired hand.
And I recall the ways
You pretended not to notice,
But we both sowed the soil
That grew only what could die.
And if you believe that I tried only to deceive:
You know that's not true.