Night Garden

Night Garden

Night Garden

Night Garden

Nightfall sweeps across the sky,
the day has past once more. 
I listen to the creatures stir,
outside my own front door. 

I sit and gaze at silhouettes, 
of hills that loom afar. 
Their black shrouds pinpricked here and there,
as house lights mimic stars. 

A lone dog barks across the town 
and shakes me from my muse. 
A breeze arrives with cooling breath
and rustles through the leaves. 

I sense that something’s watching me,
so close, yet out of sight.  
A cat? A mouse? A snake perhaps?
A mystery of the night. 

Yet I don’t fear whatever lurks,
it will not do me harm. 
Just curious of what it sees:
some stranger in the dark. 

The scent of basil in the air,
a sweet and fragrant herb. 
A nightingale takes up the stage,
to sing a calming verse. 

Shaped like onyx arrow heads,
I watch the Bats flit by. 
Such a polished air display,
by creatures that are blind. 

I never thought I’d find a way,
to lessen all my woes.
But this could be the remedy,
and hope within me grows. 

No need to wander as a cloud,
nor float o’er vale and hill. 
I’ll sit within my night garden,
my solitary thrill. 

P. A. Davies 2020


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