I go to the garden to be alone,
perhaps to sleep and dream of something more.
I fall back and lay on that earthen floor,
and dream that you, my dear, might be the one,
with your bright smile that would warm the Sun.
Would you hear me and open your heart�s door?
I knock, and it is closed just as before.
I shall return anon, as I have done,
but should that door be barred to me again,
and your hard heart had yet to long for me,
perhaps I might believe it were my sin
that made you decline my right of entry.
Alas, you are of marble, as your kin.
A garden statue, will you ever be.