Gravestones leaning, overgrown.
Very little affection shown.
A wreath, a ribbon, ornaments.
Withered words, a rusty fence.

A pattern of ivy on the wall.
Scrubs and weeds are growing tall.
A cut down tree, I‘m smelling wood.
Brambles grabbing at my foot.

Primroses, snow drops make their way,
through the grass, lead me astray.
I hear birds, singing their song,
against the road noise, holding strong.

The gate and stairs a dumping ground.
Broken bottles all around.
Cars and trucks are rushing past.
Way too loud and way too fast.

Like an island, a peaceful den.
Intruded on and disturbed by men.
Its former purpose seems forgotten.
Disrespected and left to rotten.

Like a battle, a desperate game.
Nature fighting to reclaim,
with all force, what once belonged,
crying out for being wronged.