Fate
She wandered the moonlight caressed gardens of midnight
barefoot on the stone paths, floral scents filling her deeply.
Had she not planted the roses, would they not have grown?
She must believe in her choices, herself, but fate was always the master.
Yes, everything had bloomed accordingly to her thoughtful plan.
Seasonal blooms in perfect rooms, rows and rows perfectly groomed.
But the one thing she had never expected to raise alone
was the marbled grey, cool to the touch, lovers headstone.
For contest: eight lines of fate
date: 7-2
Copyright © Casarah Nance | Year Posted 2018
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