By Jean Murray
Her garden is the one we love.
It’s as if she knows we’re here.
She has statues like us all around.
And flowers to bring us cheer.
At summer solstice it’s party time.
Shaded by trees from bright sunshine.
We faries join the pixies.
The gnomes bring summer wine.
She has paths lit by candles.
to guide us home again.
Toadstools along the way,
should a drizzle spoil our play.
Surrounded by mature trees.
No prying eyes can see.
Us merrily dancing on our way.
Home to Tir na nOg go we.
Land of Youth is where we live.
Beneath her garden, out of sight.
The intoxicating scent of her roses,
sometimes bring us back at night.
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