The Heligan Gardener

Today once more on this old seat I mused amongst woodlands deplete of leaves where Autumn acts the churl, watched winter smoke’s caress unfurl Like ghosts that rose to touch the sky, spirits of men destined to die who could not know the coming trial in wars defile their lives made vile. They worked within a fine landscape , grew pineapples and purple grapes, they knew the soil and practised skill to crop and nurture nature’s will. And then beyond enclosing walls they heard the distant bugle’s call, it sang adventure far from home a promise of the world to roam. "With friends come march to distant lands as part of those heroic bands, for country, duty, to be men", it could not tell of horrors ken. It did not tell of trench and mud, of fear and death’s hand drenched in blood, of bomb and bullet, gassed and blind, each day expecting end of time. A war unknown through all before, destructions scale immense in gore where fragile man was torn apart by shell and steal thrust to the heart. Epilogue A fevered soldier, shivering cold, his rain drenched coat around him folds, with feet diseased by constant wet in fitful sleep he moans and frets. In reveries sweet garden green, with orchards there the fruit to glean, the crop of life’s productive hours combined to foster nature’s powers. Here warmth is blessing all the earth, his wife and children give life woth, so happy in a golden world in distant Heligans arms enfurled. The mine that took his life away as in the slime wet trench he lay buried him deep within the ground so earthly guise never more found. Absolved his spirit now can be, once more old paths to wander free, a place where hearts will sense his roam, the Heligan gardeners home.