Basil Thorne

(Cornwall, UK)

The Garden

Sitting alone on a summer eve,
In a garden, with a cooling breeze,
The sun going down in a golden glow,
The sound of machines in the fields as they mow,
One smells the flowers and the new cut grass
The birds in the air, as to roost they pass.

Like messengers from some far-off land,
Oh life feels good, in fact its grand,

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