Sunday, August 7

Garden of Memories

by TRIXCY ANNE B. LOSERIAGA

photo by ANDREI DURAN/THE FLAME

I remember how we used to worry,

every time we arrive late.

The guards who always smile at us,

and look after us, 

while we listen to the humming of birds.

 

The fire trees that once danced with us,

every time we walked past the garden.

Taking refuge in the cool shade, 

as we finished our homework.

 

The doves that watched over us, 

soaring through the crimson sky. 

Perhaps it was a sign, 

that another yellow rose will be whisked away, 

and I was right.

 

Soon enough, 

we were wearing our graduation gowns,

going in separate ways, 

not knowing what the future awaits. 

 

We went back to where our journey unfolded,

laughing as we recall how our adviser used to scold us.

We took a seed from our pockets, 

planted and made an oath,

to come back once the daffodils bloom. F

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