Along the stony trails of the garden,
counting every step,
picking the fallen leaves,
looking at the birds,
her winters nearing.
she walked,once again.

She took in the same fragrance,
walked the same road,
got wet in the same rain…

Sitting on the rusted swing,
her eyes closed,
her mind mused on a missing,now a longing,

A man who held her little finger then,only in her memories now!