Sitting here sipping my coffee,

Gazing out at a sun-kissed lawn.

I drink it all in.  The cooing of doves,

A sparkling rill, the murmur of a breeze.

Intricate weavings of wooden webs,

Amongst the branches of magnificent trees.

Nature is still thrusting upwards and outwards

From this garden, designed two centuries ago,

By people who planned for, and valued, succession

Who never expected to see their trees grow.

How little of this selflessness do we now know.

 

These lines are smooth, the avenues are neat.

It’s a place where Art and Nature meet,

Not a line on an accountant’s balance sheet.

 

It took two hundred years for these saplings to grow.

They respected proportion and dignity

And were happy to wait for this beauty to show,

Passing peaceful treasure down to posterity.