Dancing With Friends

Dancing with roses,
In the garden of the dead.
High above Atlantis,
And below the heaven’s,
Is where they lay their heads.
Their beds are made of grass,
Growing up from the earth.
The creatures in the garden,
Have succumb to their own,
Lusty thirst.
But with all the rotten misfortune,
That plagues their precise lives.
There are still a few ,
That want to renew,
The garden’s,
Way of life.

R.K.H