Featured Poem: Her Garden - by Martins Deep

HER GARDEN

When God made thee

He planted Eden in thy arms

that I should rest

this head He planted

the noisy streets of ancient Rome.

...and when're I come with rejoicing

and find a forbidden hedge of thorns,

I weep like the damned

in Hades.

I survey thy borders on Sundays,

Walk miles around on Mondays,

Trounce impatience on Tuesdays,

and weep at thy two-leaved gate on Wednesdays.

I think on thy refreshing Tigris on Thursdays

and fancy sighs of thy vegetation on Fridays

blowing softly into a lute bitterest dirges on Saturdays.

Seasons going in circles

and yet am I no where

nigh the tree of life

which I long to pluck from

to live forever in thy arms.

Fair woman

unfair thou art

to this man who would spread not

his tentacles where the blooms

of other gardens call.

Here before your fenced garden

I plant my being given to a holy lust

of thy fragrance the north-wind

steals to my desperate soul

till you let me in.

- Martins Deep

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