The Secret Garden. Poem by Ray Sinclair

Walls of stone, ever creeping vines will climb,
Hidden door, locked ten years in time.
Young girl from India, alone is she,
Little red robin, shows her the key.

Door unlocked, pushed to one side,
She now takes a step, ventures inside.
Before her grows a garden so wild,
awe and wonder strike this child.

Roads twist up hills and down dale,
Wind swept moors, lit, moonlight pale.
Chill of winter soon will go,
Spring flowers and creatures begin their show.

In the big house, lives a sick lad,
he thinks he's dying, no love, so sad.
In the secret garden his healing takes place,
once lonely sadness, now a smiling face.

All creatures both big and small,
Dickon a lad, friend they call.
Has the spirit of nature, a gift that's true,
Connection with all, known to few.

Old man who wanders this world alone,
Wife long died, his heart turned to stone.
His son is the boy who's now not dying,
his heart is mending, no more crying.

The beautiful garden, secret no longer,
Mother Natures gift, the broken are stronger.
We may feel separate, think we're alone,
the seeds of healing just have to be sown.

To the poor souls who are lonely and lost,
Still your mind and its a heavy cost.
Feel the senses, gentle breeze on your skin,
for Mother Nature is without and within.


Written by Ray Sinclair on 30/04/16
© April 2016 Ray Sinclair.