We watched our children play in this garden.

.

These are the paths

That felt the patter of tiny shoes

As they chased chickens and footballs

And a big brother on his bike.

.

This is the grass

That cushioned our picnics

The blanket which held us

As we made shapes out of clouds.

.

This is the patio

Which was also a gallery

Of chalk pictures

And mazes

And fading water paintings.

.

This is the apple tree

Which gave us more than just fruit.

Knobbly and bobbly

It saw 2 little boys with wicker baskets

Learning to count

As they filled up their trugs

Dreaming of crumbles and loaf cakes.

.

These are the roses

Whose petals made perfume

Mixed with daisies and grass

Little hands stirring with grubby sticks.

.

These are the sun loungers

One, two, three

For after-school-chats, Shua, Woo and Me.

Covered in ice lolly drips

And fabric rips.

.

This is the hutch

Which housed 13 rabbits

Its hard to be poetic about something that was

Total Chaos

.

This is the place

Which saw rosy-cheeked boys in woolly mittens and bobble hats

And tiny tabletop snowmen.

Playdates and playmates,

Echoes of Easter egg hunts and obstacle races,

Birthdays parties and raking leaves.

The spot we sat for our picnic the day before you started school,

Our little piece of perfect.

.

This is the bench

Which faced the sunset

And held us back then.

I remember that evening so clearly

When I imagined how perfect life would be

When we could watch our children

Play in this garden