The secret garden

Last night I slipped into a dream

and found a secret garden place

Potten End and there did spend

an interlude

I dropped the pace

and wandered like

a tortoise

down grassy banks close

by

fruit and nut trees

feathered grasses

a great beech from on high high

heralded the end of somewhere

masking others who might see

At  its base were steps up into

a tree house

and so passionately

where dryad’s come to dance

the polka

and tiny elves

on butterflies

lift up into

morning mist rings

seldom seen by mortal’s eyes

the setting sun casts

such an aura

its fingers weave a

bright refrain

a glow that reaches

to the sofa

where   Mr D’arcy

tries to gain

the upper paw

off up the garden

missing objects on his way

a greyhound he runs

like the clappers

showing me his wings

today

he is such a handsome fellow

9 years

clearly lithe and strong

carving out a single message

this is where, I do belong

a gradual slope down to the shelter

rooted to the back fence, we

saw the spiders who might live there

in the strangest harmony

tranquility a haunting message

the creaking gate that hides so much

holly and ivy hang in raptures

protection

generally as such

twisted tangles at all angles

cling to rickety fences where

S has placed a triangular mirror

to enhance the value there

a compost area looms majestic

maturation is everywhere

it fills the nostrils and soaks into

every pore  and any spare

onto a leafy rotting process

a walnut tree that rises high

3 raised beds

and some handsome decking

and a bubble fountain

which is why

Mr D’arcy likes to sup there

to quench his thirst

duckweed and all

its better than the spirulina

but kind of sends him off the wall

off he goes like some hot cheetah

around the objects such a pace

turning around to really show me

how to do it

and how to face

through the kitchen

and into the sitting

out the french doors

and back down where

I’m still tortoise like

a climbing

which Mr D’arcy is aware
stone cats romans gods

and god knows

hang and sit and stand around

giving off a quirky aura

anyway thats what I found

S was charming G was charming

I met Toby, he was too

the sun set such a glorious picture

on Potten end it was a view

to die for, as we drank Pi water

cool and crisp and it just gels

swept into our  throat as if to

says its permeating all our cells

the sun has gone and colours

whisper

and move the waiting soul who stares

up into the sky a yonder

among the flying horses lairs

I had found a secret garden

where the faeries come to play

where goblins sit astride the mulberry

and  pass the time and possibly say

how quiet it is and  so idyllic

lots of foliage creeps and stirs

a really rich and velvet halo

relaxes one and even spurs

the poets heart, to find the right words

the artists heart to brush and be

each pattern and each light drawn moment

brought together in harmony

images that come to mind

mentation of a unique kind

a celebration of watchfulness

where faery folk

are there to bless

the little people

come and go

hear the water as it

does flow

elementals dance and sing

and add to this spectre everything

there is to see and imagine

comes

sylph like sisters

beating drums

a mythical ectoplasmic trait

rewards the soul prepared to wait