The Secret Garden

This is a story about our encounter:
A secret bestowed upon a garden
By the keepers of a magical town,
Centred within Gaelic wilderness,
Frivolous birds briskly fly their wings
Into the flowers of a peaceful summer,
We become trees: young and wise,
Organic leaves delineating our soul,
Signs of nature pulling us here,
A nest for storytellers, a sanctuary so
Sacred till the last sip of a teapot,
Brewed within earthly volcanic
Waters to be consumed by many
Celestial souls of serene beings,
The story tells of an enigmatic
Inscription well-preserved within
Its silent walls and cushioned floors,
Within its dim lights and fragrant
Candles, within the cheerful friends
And the veiled whispering couples,
The story discloses to the passers-by
The will to dance a tribal ritual
Energised by the rare melodic aether,
Strings of a golden harp revealing
The vivid colours of this garden,
The story now flicks to a different
Chapter as the door cracks open
And the chimes of our steps reach
This realm’s magnificent keepers,
The same ones who forged this
Hideout for us to share something,
So, relax, take a sip, and enter the story.

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Lavender

Yes, lavender – that was the word,
The search has ended and hope has
Been reached for everyone who
Fancies purple and all its vibrant
Distinct shades – I adore lilac for
No particular reason except organs
Evolved to hunt it down if it ever
Appeared amongst a painted
Landscape – an obsession where
Fashion has stolen lilac for its own
Antiquity to wrap around my soul,
And today, I sit in a warm tea shop,
Vibrant music distinctively amusing
The soul to ask the girl for some
Tea that nakedly bares lavender.