The Picture

My garden is not like Monet's
There is no rainbow arch
Reflecting in the water,
Or reedy edge for frogs to hide
No water-boat-men,
Rowing through the leaves
Daubed and splattered
With random colours
Thrown fearlessly at the easel.
I love this view. as many others do

We pay our dues, worship and adore
Captured, nailed in wood.
Photographed and print,
Vicarious pleasure,
On the hall-way wall.
My garden is not the same.
Greens and yellows, wild and free
Red-wood reaching for the clouds
Defying winds in winter storm
Shedding cones and needles
Shaking pigeons' nests.
Dandelion with the daffodil,
Cowslip's powdered petals,
Primrose hiding in the grass
No reds and wind-flower-blue,
Euphorbia its poisonous sap,
Spurge in English, beware!
Monet secure on the wall,
His pond, deep and safe.
My garden beyond the window-pane
Where winds blow strong,
Trees lean and branches fall
This is real, not brushed,
I, sojourner here,
Here is real,
Changing with the whim,
And mine.............
Until tomorrow.