I can see it now,

By the light of a dying day.

I know not how,

The path that will guide my way.

Emerald, vermilion, turquoise and taupe,

Gold shining through the trees.

A garden full of peace and hope,

And love blowing in the breeze.

An archway marks the end of my road,

A metaphor, I suppose,

For all the grievances I have towed.

All to be washed away, from the smell of a perfect rose.