There's an ancient, ancient garden
That I see sometimes in dreams
Where the very? sunlight plays and glows the spectrum bleeds
Where the god? blossom seem to withered into?
And the crumbling walls and pillars waken thoughts of yesterday
There are? in? In? there is moss about to poo
And the tangled withy thicked
Chokes the arm, dark and cooled
In the silence sunken bathways springs a herbert? and spares
Where the musty scent of death things does the fragrance of the earth
There is not a living creature in the lonely space around
And the heading compass quiet, never echos to a sound
As I walk and wait and listen I will often seek to find
One it was, anew, that garden
In an ancient long left behind
There will off come? a vision
Of a day that is no more
I gaze upon the grey, grey seas
I feel light new before
Then a sadness settles on me
And a trama? seems to start
For I know the flowers are shrible crooks
The garden is my hut
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