The Garden Poem by Paul Reed

Deserted by us for vaster climes
You held nature in your hand
Broad fences encircling
Your green and subdued land;

Lofty hedges held safe within
That safe and primitive lair
Where the blackbird chose to feast
And make his crude home there;

Where red-pillowed roses sprang
From unpromising, dusty soil
Where scant regard was given
To pure and honest toil

But where nature first held sway
And cradled you in this shrine
Where I could stand at night
And feel I was a part of thine