Sometimes I dream
of a little gate opening
then another
and another
into a walled garden
I hear the song of the linnet
the thrush in the hawthorne
a creaking of iron hinges
I’d almost forgotten
the scent of lilacs
Sometimes I dream
of a little gate opening
then another
and another
into a walled garden
I hear the song of the linnet
the thrush in the hawthorne
a creaking of iron hinges
I’d almost forgotten
the scent of lilacs