Gardens Poem by Rebecca Stansfield

To remember my old garden,
That the swing swung in the wind,
But now only four slabs of pavement I have,
And the wind swinging is not happy but sad.

Back when my hair was thin and fair,
And all fairies welcome;
Seems so thriving, sitting on pavements,
Wind, swaying in my hair.

The house of past and time ago,
Of if food is at the table,
Churning all of my secrecies,
That are now that all I know.

My old garden had a wooden shed,
In which my sisters used to teach me,
How to sit still and look out of the windows,
But the window still, is me.

I was only seven small years old,
Where I was a learner too,
Like nothing but a reflecting window,
My hair be lighter too.

In which the four slabs of pavements,
May not be grass or happy sun,
But each relfects a new memory,
All four slabs, excluding one.

I can think for all but of just one,
One-memories of old desperate times,
Another being happy,
And the last being of only time.

The time that has passed of seven years,
Since where my body swung,
Behold, scary, haunted concrete slabs,
GO- GO GO.

And I shall think of meanings,
Happy ones-be it;
That are new memories for me,
To start a new life...

''One - you shall be happy one,
Two - shall be to fall in love,
Three - To have some sunshine,
Four - Oh, once I'm again I'm stuck.''