The Veil of Scent: A Reverie in the Forgotten Garden
Beneath the boughs of yon old Eden’s keep,
There breathed a vale where blossoms scant and few
Had lost their scents to Time’s forgetful sleep.
A garden sprawled in hallowed, drifting air—
A Jardin olfactif, both hushed and rare.
In midst of verdant lanes and perfumed shade,
There wandered she, a soul with fragile tread,
Âme en quête d’une fragrance, deep arrayed
In memories that Time’s own hand had fled.
Her eyes, twin pools reflecting hope and ache,
Did hunt the scent her heart long sought to wake.
Oft had she roamed in twilight’s fading gleam,
Where petals wept soft hues on lattice wrought,
And through the scented air that breathed a dream,
Her fingers through the clustered roses caught;
Yet, none could stir that fragrance long concealed,
A secret in the past’s sweet chest revealed.
“Where art thou, Breath of yore? Thy veil eludes,”
Her murmured voice, a quivering soliloquy.
“Lost in the folds of days and solitude,
Thy essence lingers only in memory.”
She paused amidst the blooms that bowed like fate,
And sighed for what the years did obliterate.
The garden sighed responsive, leaf and bloom,
As if the soul of earth itself did hear
Her mournful quest to rouse the perfumed plume,
Through veils of loss, through shadows thick and drear.
A gentle wind, a silent serenade,
Stirred petals where her hopes were softly laid.
From boughs engraved with antique, whispering time,
There came a murmur, soft as lace’s thread,
An echo caught in nature’s cryptic rhyme,
Unlocking scents that long were cloaked and dead.
She bent—the trembling air around dispelled—
A fragrance pure, a tale in wafting held.
It was the scent of summer rain on grass,
Of whispered fields where youth had danced and played,
A mingling of the lilac’s fragile mass,
And mossy earth where childhood’s footsteps strayed.
That fragrance bore the weight of days undone,
Of dreams that glimmer softly with the sun.
Her heart beat in a cadence wrought of years,
The ache of absence mingled with delight.
A chalice full of memories, of tears,
Now tempered by the dawning warmth of light.
“Ah, Time!” she breathed, “Thy shackles gently fall,
When hope revives the past’s unyielding call.”
Thus wrapped within the garden’s scented breath,
Her spirit soared beyond the bounds of grief,
For memory and hope entwined in wreath,
Became the balm and source of sweet relief.
The fragrance, lost no more, did softly sing
Of life renewed beneath eternal spring.
O Jardin olfactif, thou keeper old,
Of tales distilled and secrets yet confessed,
Thy blossoms cradle stories not yet told,
In petals worn, in perfumed vestiges dressed.
And she, the wanderer with yearning keen,
Found in thy breath the essence evergreen.
Her eyes upraised to skies of tender hue,
The sun’s embrace a golden hymn above,
And in that glow, the past made whole and true,
A prism cast by rays of steadfast love.
She smiled—the fragrance of her soul restored—
And walked amidst the blooms forevermore.
