In a Garden

 When the gardener has gone this garden
Looks wistful and seems waiting an event.

It is so spruce, a metaphor of Eden
And even more so since the gardener went,

Quietly godlike, but of course, he had
Not made me promise anything and I
Had no one tempting me to make the bad
Choice.
 Yet I still felt lost and wonder why.


Even the beech tree from next door which shares
Its shadow with me, seemed a kind of threat.

Everything was too neat, and someone cares

In the wrong way.
 I need not have stood long
Mocked by the smell of a mown lawn, and yet
I did.
 Sickness for Eden was so strong.

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