The Rose at the End of my Garden, a poem

If you walk through the garden and follow the path,
Past the spot where the dogs love to nap,
Past the corner and up a step,
Past the grass that’s half sun, half shade…

If you step where the grass grows, escaping the cut
And watch your step for the ‘bombs’ planted by dogs,
And through the pool’s gate you go –
If the vineyard guarding the padlock will allow…

If you stop and listen, hear the grass call,
And past the wild garlic you stroll,
You could stop by the old branch or you could go on,
It is up to you. But you’re near the end, so push on…

Past the place where the fairies come out at night,
See, they left an umbrella behind,
Got caught in the Pinkhead Knotweed,
The sweet scented snowballs that blush with ease…

Hold your breath for a second, then take a bow,
Introduce yourself to the Rose, the aim of your stroll
And eight years King at the End of my Garden –
Past the brick path
And the grass half shade and half sun,
Over the dog bombs,
Through the gate,
Past the wild garlic,
Along the old log,
And the fairies’ umbrella,
At the end of each day’s stroll.