At the end of the garden

I’ve been thinking about a poem for several days now and started on a draft this evening. I’m not completely happy with what I have so far, but I’ll get there. In the meantime, here’s the first draft for you to enjoy!

At the end of the garden

by Just Frances

At the end of the garden stands a humble tree
There are no leaves or fruits or berries
The bark is scratched and scabbed
Sap seep from its wounds

At the end of the garden, a child sits under a tree
This is a place of escape and solitude
This is where thoughts are shared with God
This is where games are played and laughter echoes

At the end of the garden, lovers lay under a tree
This is where kisses are stolen and hands are held
This is where promises are made and hearts flutter
This is where dreams are pondered and futures are made

At the end of the garden stands a magical tree
Its limbs are heavy with strength and courage
The bark is scarred with love and imagination
Joyful memories sprout from its roots