read me backwards
In the garden of dreams, hope blossoms bright;
each dawn breathes secrets of delight.
Sunlight dances on petals of gold;
love’s warmth enfolds and never grows old.
Birds thread sweet melodies through the air —
nature’s canvas, vibrant and fair.
But shadows pool in the well of night:
whispers of despair, a chilling sight.
Darkness consumes, devours the light;
echoes of sorrow, an endless plight.
A haunting silence, a hollowing hush —
in the depths of despair we are left to crush.
Fair and vibrant? The canvas peels.
Through the air, the melody keels.
Old grows the warmth; it loosens its hold.
Gold tarnishes; petals fold.
Delight’s secrets — dawn’s little lie.
Bright blooms hope, in the garden, to die.