My Secret Garden

I found a secret garden,
a place to hide and play,
where no one else and find me;
where I can go and stay.

I found some flowers there
where spindly weeds have grown.
There's tunnels through the boxwoods;
the ground's as smooth as stone.

Birds sing in the trees;
spider webs hang low;
I sit up on the rock seat;
my legs swing to and fro.

Perhaps you'd like it there
to hide and run and play,
but if I share this secret place,
my secret's gone away.
-Joy S. Barefoot

This poem reflects on Wharton Gardens in Bedford Virginia where my grandson played as a child.