I sat in a Garden of Eden—
Ancient land beneath my feet—
My back held firm by Willow—
My senses filled with wild herb sweet.
The Scarecrow stood—its arms outstretched—
As if to beg forgiveness—
For clothes with no resemblances—
In matching Granny’s Bonnets.
The measured share of common ground—
Where men once dug for victory—
Today provides exotic fruits—
Served from a silver salver.
No hunger now— No scars of war—
Bright lilies grow in peace—
This place is shared in equal parts—
With black sod and with stamen.
A Spitfire gently parts the clouds—
Its murmurings are hidden—
For memories of war have gone—
And a Nation’s soul is ridden.
If this be England— ring out the chimes—
For freedom lasting— In Our Time—
But let us all if darkness booms—
Hear not the sound of the Emmanuel Bell.
Watching men and women happily tending to their allotments in the Garden County of Kent I was inspired to write these words.
Cathy Brennan. July 2018.