A Moonlit Garden

I know a garden in a far-off place

Where lurk the wondrous folk of the green.

Where fauns and dryads hide and play

With nymphs and elves around old trees.


Trees, sweet and old and dear,

Loved for many a vanished year.


The forgotten rose hopes of yesterday,

And dear dead memories of long of ago,

In this garden frolic and play

With the breezes of dreams that blow.


The little gypsy breezes that croon and purr

With the gusty pines and tasseled fir,

Waft the breath of the wisterias young,

The sweetest of fragrances, storied or sung.


The poppies aflame with red and gold

Hold rapturous secrets never to be told.


The lily, silver as a star apart

Holds the poignant sorrow of innocent hearts.


The nightshades clad in purple and white

Dance with the sacred dreams of the night.


The red rose with sweet petals unfurled

Holds the holy loves of this ancient world.


And the amaryllis robed in white and red

Hold the kisses of mothers in the days that have fled.


All the flowers of this garden bright,

Bear sacred secrets and unfettered delights,

In these unworldly hours of the night.


And underneath the weeping willow that sways

Singing the lore of the elder days.

A little woodland elf is fluting

Melodies of exquisite, immortal things.


And the bluebells that ring an elfish chime,

As winds blow soft from the upland airy

Tell tales as old as time,

Of this divine land of faery.


Tales of the fairy folk in the birchen bough

That waltz with the winds that come and go.

Tales of the fireflies that dance in the dark

To the lilting melodies of the robin and the star.


Tales of goblins and of fauns,

Of secrets lost and unfettered dawns.

Of midsummer noons and enchanted nights,

Of ivory moons and springtime lights.


Tales of sorrow as of mirth

Of death and grief and joy and birth.


The little pixie people creep

To learn these eloquent notes.

And the little hobgoblins steal

To keep their mischief afloat.


Some golden days that I never lived,

Dwell in this garden for me.

And laughter that I somehow missed

Echoes in distant minstrelsy.


Here with the night as a friend well-known,

I am the sister to the stars.

But I think I shall go and find my own

Dear little house where my loved ones are.

        -Shruti Kumaran




What are you looking for?