My garden is a garden that has no stately view.
There’s a railing at the bottom with some privet poking through.
Our terrace is some decking and peacocks, they can’t fly,
So the magpies and the pigeons would attack them from the sky.

For where the straggly weeds grow along the rotting fence,
You’ll find a broken shed among the nettles there so dense.
No potting shed or cold frame will you find within the grounds,
Just plastic toys and bicycles lying all around.

And there you’ll see the children, toddlers, girls and boys
Told to go and play outside, to go and make some noise.
A place where they can let off steam and shout and say rude words,
For the glory in my garden is the freedom it deserves.

’Cos I can’t pot begonias and I hate the prickly rose.
I’m the one who always kills off everything that grows.
I’m not concerned about the lawn where weeds and moss abide,
For it’s there to be a playground for my kids who play outside.

Adam was not a gardener and God who made him sees
That he gave him Eve to cherish in the garden on his knees.
So when the day is over you can clap your hands and say
Let’s astro-turf the garden and get out there and play.

Maggie Storer has gathered quite a collection of poems and is tentatively sending them out for approval.  She helps to run a local creative writing group in South Staffordshire. Her short stories have appeared in her local newspaper, but she now wants to concentrate on her poetry.