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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352777" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Weeping Garden</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352777" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">It’s terrible! – all drip and listening.<br>Whether, as ever, it’s loneliness,<br>splashing a branch, like lace, on the window,<br>or whether perhaps there’s a witness.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352777" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Choked there beneath its swollen<br>burden – earth’s nostrils, and audibly,<br>like August, far off in the distance,<br>midnight, ripening slow with the fields.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352777" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">No sound. No one’s in hiding.<br>Confirming its pure desolation,<br>it returns to its game – slipping<br>from roof, to gutter, slides on.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352777" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">I’ll moisten my lips, listening:<br>whether, as ever, I’m loneliness,<br>and ready maybe for weeping,<br>or whether perhaps there’s a witness.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=352777" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But, silence. No leaves trembling.<br>Nothing to see: sobs, and cries<br>being swallowed, slippers splashing,<br>between them, tears and sighs.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Boris+Pasternak">Boris Pasternak</a></strong></div>