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Poem	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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