Beneath a sky of endless grey,

I wandered through a garden’s decay.

Vines twisted round half-built walls,

And wilting petals littered the halls.

I found forgotten dreams asleep,

Lying in silence, piled in heaps —

A song unwritten, a love left behind,

An unfinished poem etched in the mind.

The air was heavy with sighs unsaid,

Yet in one corner, a sprout raised its head.

A green whisper — stubborn and true,

Born from the promise that hope always grew.

I knelt and whispered, “I’ll finish you.”

The sprout replied, "I believe you’ll do."

And with trembling hands, I cleared the ground,

For a second chance had just been found.