The tulips have been battered by the wind
All their colours lay strewn upon the lawn
The end of day is split across the clouds
The drawing night plays echoes to the dawn
A symphony of splattered colours
amongst the sprawling wild winds of grey.
Streaked yellow, red and crimson petals
lost upon glistening green at end of day.
And I will tell you this
there is no better place to lie
than in this English garden
with the wind, wild across the sky