There's enchantment in my garden,
Before the world intrudes,
When air and sights and sounds are pure,
In blissful solitude.
So still,not a leaf stirs,
Only the whisper of a wakening breeze,
The plaintive cry of a distant lamb,
And the hum from early bees.
Slanting sunlight crosses through the branches,
Lays pools of gold upon the lawn,
A sparkling cobweb,woven in the still of night,
Hangs on the rose bush,
With dewdrop jewels,that will not last,to evening light.
The birds have ceased their morning chorus,
Now they're diligently feeding their brood.
Flying high,silently,to their secret places,
With morsels of fledgling food.
The scent of hay drifts over the hedgerows,
That threshing machine,now stands its ground,
The scene of yesterday's toil,
With noise,dust and oil!
We now have time to gather in,make haystacks,or go bailing,
Freshly rested-we are.
A few pints of "Old Rosy" did the trick,
Carried us home!