The garden umbrella

I spent an hour in shelter from the sun
My parasol arrived and all was gay
But very soon a naughty wind had come
And blown my garden parasol away

Abandoning my seat beside the Rose,
My papers blown around like little leaves
I fled indoors, the victim  of a ghost
For on hot days he follows me bereaved.

So in the living room, I drank hot tea
A  young man brought a parcel to the door
I saw  rich leaves and branches valiantly
Add movement to the scene I thought forlorn

A  garden gnome out there  does not  want me
To smile when others suffer misery


About Kate Thwaite

I love writing , conversation, art, wild flowers, music and air.And books
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