The secret garden

 

In the secret garden,

the tree guard's arms scratch across my face,

and their roots trip me up,

the dead leaves dance across the bare floor,

and the pixies pick petals from the drooping flowers.

 

In the secret garden,

a mini devil flutters past my face,

a pine leaf stabs me in the back,

sticks lie on the floor,

like an injured soldier.

 

In the secret garden,

a knobbly tree creaks in the wind,

a swing singing a song he'd once heard,

the carpet of wood surrounds me,

the smell of dead leaves suffocates me.

 

In the forgotten garden, 

a hill looms up,

on the other side is happy and bright,

where they dance and play and sing all night.

I'm on the wrong side of the hill, 

I think I'll stay here.

 

Nerissa Tuck

Marsden junior school

Huddersfield

 

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