SECRET GARDEN

I was walking through the moorland / down a steep and winding lane
Underneath a sunless promise / of abundant summer rain
When I noticed that, beside me, / a stone, ivy-covered wall
Failed at hiding a dead garden / for its bad weeds grew too tall.

From a corner of the garden / a red robin flew to me,
The sole sign of life remaining / in that eerie house of sleep.
"All things weep, all things weep" / Was his grim recurring tweet
"In this solitary garden / You've forgotten how to keep ."

Didn't know what he was saying / so I begged him to explain:
"What has this to do with me, bird? / Are you stupid or insane?"
"All things weep, all things weep" / He was willing to repeat
"Now not even you remember / all the plants you used to feed?"

"Knees were young", said the robin, / "and dreams wild as dreams should be"
When a child used to come visit / every Friday after tea.
He would skip across the moorland / past the graveyard and the well
To pour water on the lilacs, / and the lilacs loved it well.

But the equinox arrived / and nobody came to play.
Firefly was quick to note / "Surely he's unwell today"
But more nights sunk in the moorland / and the willow ceased to laugh,
No more did its backcomb tickle / the pale moon , his better half.

Ivy spread its magic kingdom / by annexing walls and benches,
Blocking up the lidless eyes / of the statues it still clenches;
Even that well on the prairie / grew a scab of sparkling moss
And the roses' hundred eyelids / mourned each morning at the loss.

Topiaries in shapes of creatures / became hugely overgrown:
Now the beaver's body prickles, / as a porcupine, it groans;
Now the owl's a daunting vulture, / the cat's turned into a lion;
They can't entertain the thought / that their savior had been lying.

Many animals escaped, / although some of us stayed here
Hoping to refute an answer / that we didn't want to hear.
Squirrel shed hot, heavy teardrops / like a hairy garden hose,
It was more despair than being / as it blew its tiny nose.

Dragonflies used to shape hearts / when they mated in the moonlight,
Now they are but crystal gargoyles / murmuring an icy "good night".
Water caught in spiderwebs / froze them into bright dreamcatchers
But can't save this house of sleep / from the nightmares that it captures.

The night air is so, so cold / even ghosts wear duvet covers.
See their whispers turn into / that chill smoke signal that hovers?
And the nodding leaves admit, / when admit they really must,
That the wind is right in taking / their weak bodies far from dust.

Now I am the last one standing, / I have buried all my friends,
I have planted their bones, hoping / they would flourish in the end.
Sprinkled all my love upon them , / added much water and light
But either the harvest's awful / or the measures weren't right "

When the red robin stopped speaking / and the wind rustled the thistle
I thought I could recognise / the old lullaby it whistled.
In the pocket of my jacket / I then felt a heavy weight,
Searched and found a rusty door key / - Had to enter, couldn't wait!

Opened wide the wooden doorway / and saw daffodils in bed
Stretching after their deep slumber / by the ancient fountainhead,
Smelled the blood red roses' breath / - yes, the garden was alive!
Seems it had remembered for me / while I coped with real life.

It seems something good inside me / had been lost along the way
But I'm safe back in my garden / and I'll never walk away
I will let it drink my teardrops, / and if it still doesn't thrive
I will let my body dry up / to make sure it stays alive.

Once again the moors will hear, / through the years and through the ages,
The beat of a million hearts / against a million ribcages.
They're emerging from the moss, / by the morning they'll have flourished
Now the dome of stars appears / and they're waiting to be nourished.