Treasure Island

Angela Wybrow

(Salisbury, Wilts, UK)

In The Dead Of Night


They waited until the dead of night,
Then headed towards the silvery light.

They left the forests and woods behind -
Each of them wondering what they would find.

They couldn’t make sense of the things that they saw;
The wondrous sights, they could not ignore.

The place was different from their own little corner;
The place, they found, had strange flora and fauna.

They wandered past gardens with trampolines;
Past houses with lawns of emerald green.

Unseen by the locals, resting their heads,
They trotted by hedges and neat flower beds.

Past parked car, van and pick-up truck,
Strode the deer – both doe and buck.

Along the pavements, they merrily danced,
Past people’s greenhouses laden with plants.

Past garden ponds filled up with fish,
And houses with rooftops sporting a dish.

Past fence, brick wall and bins with wheels;
The scene, to me, sounds almost unreal.

They passed by driveways filled with gravel.
The mysteries of suburbia, they tried to unravel.

Electricity cables stretched far over their heads,
As they wandered past conservatory and garden shed.

They wandered past houses with tall chimney stacks;
Of new things to discover, there wasn’t a lack.

The people in bed, they had little idea,
That a herd of deer were wandering near.

If, out of a window, somebody had peered,
They may have felt a slight shiver of fear.

For an hour or so, they trotted around,
And then they headed back out of town.

Back to their haven shrouded in green:
A place of safety, where rarely they’re seen.

Come the morning when alarm clocks call,
Very few folk would know they’d been there at all.

Submitted: Saturday, March 01, 2014
Edited: Thursday, March 06, 2014

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