The Fruit Garden Path

The path runs straight between the flowering rows,

A moonlit path, hemmed in by beds of bloom,

Where phlox and marigolds dispute for room

With tall, red dahlias and the briar rose.

‘ T is reckless prodigality which throws

Into the night these wafts of rich perfume

Which sweep across the garden like a plume.

Over the trees a single bright star glows.

Dear garden of my childhood, here my years

Have run away like little grains of sand;

The moments of my life, its hopes and fears

Have all found utterance here, where now I stand;

My eyes ache with the weight of unshed tears,

You are my home, do you not understand?