Dead Garden

I stroll by the sideline of the parking lot,
The same place the field was,
Were the children played games of ball
And that stranger had foreseen our yet to happen future.
What I see is a dead garden, the life
Seemingly choked from it's very being.
A fountain sits on the edge,
Looking for redemption and the warmth
Of the very lilies that lie wilted,
Dead around it's circumference.
Pits of dust and daises are curled up
Like a small girl would to her mother.
A ring of concrete blocks protects this family of
Sorrow and false hope,
But as we all know,
All blooms back with the unknown heat of Spring.