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.