The Secret Garden

By Victoria Elizabeth Forester

The morning began all grey and grim, And the railway station, in battle trim, Had sulking trains in tunnels slim, Then the sun shone down from the clouds. The journey went by in a blue of scenes, Rusty wrecks and shattered dreams, Car parks bursting at the seams, Then the sun shone out from the clouds. At last at the station and off the train, A few hours of freedom to ease the strain, And the old famous river is calling again, While the sun shone down from the clouds. Through the old city and blind to its sights Ranging before me in dark streets of light, The trusted old bridge I've known in its might, While the sun shone down from the clouds. Rusted gate hid in bushes of green, A thing much passed but not before seen, No-one about, nobody near seen, And the sun shone down from the clouds. A couple of pushes and the gate gave way To a series of steps that led down to the spray Of the shadowy water that slapped that day, While the sun hid itself in the clouds. I knew that the river was there nearby, I looked up and saw a cloudy sky, But my heart leapt with joy as a looked with my eyes While the sun peeped out from the clouds. There in a square closed in iron ornate, Peeped roses and flowers that twined round the gate. A gardene it was, and hidden of late. Then the sun shone out from the clouds. I stayed till the river, its tide coming in, Tippled and lapped with a gentle din At the stones that edged that garden in, And the sun blazed down from the clouds. It must have belonged to an old house nearby, Someone must have loved it as then did I, But time called me home with the sight still in my eyes And the sun blazed down from the clouds. Many years passed, but that place I recall, Right by an old bridge, enclosed by a wall, My own secret garden I often recall, When the sun shines down from the clouds.