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
