Monday, 24 February 2014

Secret Gardens

A secret garden accessible by using a special key is a magical thing. Up and down the country there are hundreds of such places kept out of reach from the ordinary person, in so doing they remain mysterious and longingly desirable. One wanders what lies beyond a locked gate, who is allowed to pass through it. and what do they do once they have entered.

Since childhood I've longed for a secret garden, a little gate that leads into an overgrown haven of tranquillity filled with exotic flowers peaking out from the wild hedges, hidden benches perfect for a moment or two of reflection.

Something a little like this...







Secret Garden by William Shakespeare

Fresh morning dew, still dripping from the rose,
the blue birds sing their wishful, songs of hopes.
My garden has still breath - it alone knows,
the secrets that are bound with grassy ropes.
Pure love is endless – the bird’s sing of truth,
sweet blossoms bow so humbly, to their voice.
They rest in old age and then dance in youth,
blameless and pure of heart - they all rejoice.
They're out of sight - hidden - like precious gems,
the rainbows do yield, while all time transcends.  
The roses stand tall on their thorny stems,
as giving thanks, to their fair feathered friends.

My secret garden cast your spell in mist.
Mark down your truths on an unending list.