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