The story behind the poem
the true description of the garden of a small terraced house I once
owned in Cambridge. Although a very small garden, I spent many happy
hours pottering about in it and it could always surprise me with new
Sadly the peach
tree, its most unusual feature, after years of astonishing fecundity
finally succumbed to leaf curl (despite my annual spraying) and had to
be reduced to little more than a trunk. I had a running battle with
ground elder and the honeysuckle bower was knocked over by high winds
and had to be trained up again from scratch. But the door at the end
of the garden, while in reality leading into a dingy little
brick-built shed full of flower pots, ancient rusty tools and invading
ivy tendrils, still retained its air of mystery.
Click the link for more on the theme of gardens.
by Damaris West
Read the poem
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