September 15th, 2025
by Lorraine Ryan
They say love built the gardens.
A man, desperate to hold on,
stacking stone on stone, root on root,
trying to make something that wouldn't leave.
He pulled rivers from dust,
made the desert bloom,
because she missed the hills of home,
because she missed something he couldn't give her.
And isn't that what we do?
We build. We reach.
We take our hands and say, Here. Look. Stay.
We offer all the green we can grow,
all the water we can carry,
all the love we can pour into the cracks.
But love is not stone.
It is not roots deep enough to hold a city.
It is the wind moving through the leaves,
the spaces between fingers that used to fit together,
the quiet unraveling of something once whole.
The gardens fell.
The rivers dried.
No walls, no vines, no trace of all that wanting.
And she? She left anyway.
And isn't that how it goes?
We give, we build, we love –
but sometimes, even the grandest things
aren't enough to make someone stay.
About the Poet
Lorraine Ryan resides in Tubbercurry, County Sligo, Ireland.
Read the poet's biography and Wax Poetry and Art publications
on Lorraine Ryan's Artist Page.
This poem is also featured in Comet #6,
published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Dublin Poetry Magazine:
Nature's Mirror
by Ross Gormley
Dublin Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
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