Peter Simpson

Peter Simpson Poems

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The Secret Garden

The Secret Garden

The gardener surveys his land,
No barren prospect he has planned,
For when the snow gives way to dew,
And blackened skies, with clouds turn blue,
The plans he's made to plant and grow,
Will manifest themselves, through snow

The melting snow gives way to spring,
Revealing all the land to him,
The prospect of an orchard tree,
or plants of wild variety,
Have made the gardener keep in mind,
Of what results his labour finds.
Choosing seeds to compliment,
Is blessed and is heaven sent.

His marriage to the land is true,
He tills and toils with seeds anew,
And after tender loving care,
The stronger of the plants will bare,
The prospect of their beauty, bright,
From sun and rain and day and night,
And slowly as they start to flower,
The gardener can see the power.

His garden is a perfect place,
Filled with honesty and grace,
Wondering what else will bare,
Has left him awed by nature fair.
But what is that on stony ground,
A tiny seedling left unfound!
What is it? Does the gardener know,
So why not let the seedling grow.

A single dropp of purest dew,
Adorned the seedling as it grew.
Such strength it drew from gardener’s land,
And tendered by his loving hand,
It flowered, in one magic day
Revealing secrets on the way,
Not by him, but by the flower,
Revealing all of nature’s power.

The rarest beauty does compare,
To all the other flowers there,
But like a man that finds so rare,
A plant he can not sadly share,
He lifts it gently from the garden,
And takes it to his secret garden,
He knows, he's hiding from the start,
The flower’s living - in his heart.

The summer sun and the light,
Reveals a prospect of delight,
A garden, of such beauty shows,
How he tends and prunes and grows.
Such myriad of delights!
Shows colours, vibrant - and a sight,
Not seen before but now revealed,
A blossoming, a man revered,
For giving everything he owns,
In making sure his garden grows.

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