Was there rain in that garden?
There must have been plenty –
It was Wales, the valleys, and the hills were green –
But I remember sunshine as I sat
On the rough concrete block at the corner of the flower bed.
Was there noise in that garden?
Maybe a sheep bleating
From behind the back gate.
But I remember the quiet of held breath
As I watched tiny insects in the warm soil.
Were there weeds in that garden?
There could have been –
What child knows a flower from a weed?
But I remember the pink of London Pride,
The sharp prick of floribunda thorns.
Was there peace in that garden?
Perhaps. It was a long time ago
And time blurs the edges.
Still, I remember the green kitchen door,
Never locked, which led out there.
Notes: The prompt was to write a poem about a specific place — a particular house or store or school or office. I don’t really do descriptive poems, but here’s a bit of Rhondda memory.