Garden

Walking through stripes of ivory tears
There is a brick wall covered with a dew
Someplace behind it fireplace is burning slightly
Leaves are dancing on the ground madly
And the table is set for two

But there might not be doors hidden underneath the ivy
Perhaps there is no angel water fountain under the oak tree
And there aren't roses blooming in the flower pots
Maybe this orchard was a field of golden hay instead
Where on a random stock we both slept calmly

By: oV

A/N: This poem was originally (totally) different, but it came through a lot of transformations. I like the outcome.