In the shade of a willow,
I lay
on a tear-drenched bed of roses.
I cry
silent tears
for he had left my garden,
having tasted the fruit of knowlege
and seen me
for what I really am.
He left my garden
on the arm of the temptress,
the two-faced serpent,
once thought friend.
He ventured from the safty of my garden
into the harsh tempest
without a backwards glance.
As I weep
soft winds whisper,
brushing the hair from my face
in mock comfort,
"Don't be a fool
he was never really here."
In the shade of a willow,
I lay
alone.