The old patterns play against the wall

The old patterns play against the wall
And a deep sigh escapes my lips
The sound echoes through this empty house
I think of the gardens outside, flowers
Wilted and gone for another season
Strangely, I do not mourn their loss
Or my own
I know they will return,
With the birds, and spring breezes
For now they lay sleeping, waiting,
While I sit waiting for you to say something.
~

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