Wilding The Garden (Poetry)

When we moved in the garden was a mess
we sensed the soil was aching its distress
ragged-raw a patch of brittle lawn
unrained upon — illused — lay battle-worn

What trees there were sighed lonely for a song
few flowers dared pretend they might belong
an air of melancholy hung its grey
most wildlife gone to ground or flown away

A single toad beneath the potting shed
stared balefully from his cold lumpy bed —
the shards of pots, coiled twine and rotting roots
along with an old pair of leather boots

We cleared it out — rehomed the grumpy toad —
an upturned crock nearby his new abode
he squatted there resentful — bulgey-eyed
and watched us work, his patience sorely tried

The weeks went by. We watered and we fed
all that lived, recycled what was dead
and welcomed in all creatures — bird or bee
who came to test our hospitality

The garden’s now a jungled green retreat
for visitors whose habits are discreet
they go about their secretive affairs
our long-term guest — old toad — just sits and stares