My Garden

In the green darkness of a summer night, A great wind stirs the bushes, Stirring their shadows, The big stars are beginning to shine, And sound here is a powerful thing, With whispered answers to the calls of the night.

• Here is my garden, crops of the forest, Blossoms of the wild—these things I know,
  Even as I grow, I grow, away; Yet, I cannot stay, but leave my garden to them, through the night.

• Lesbia Harford