The Night Garden

I walked the night garden, shadows of gentle grey,  
lit by the sickle moon stood still and silent,  
the warmth of a summer's day rose to mist the air  
bearing flowery fragrance and  sleepy leaves,  
silent . . still,  . . .still and silent, gentle grey.  
The pool,its water-lily, golden fin, and dragonfly  
beside the sickle moon, reflected in the glassy water  
lay still, silent, still, glazed, grey and calm  
quiet to burst the ears only a heart-beat-pulse  
to count the slow grey hours.  . . . . . . . .  
Colours of the sunny day take rest, leaves turgid now  
after the heat of day, pinks of lilies, whites of daisies  
dressed now in shades of grey, gentle... sleepy.... grey  
slumber in the silver light of the moon  
reflecting in the pool. . . . . . . . . . . .  .  
The owl and bat and moth softly go about their business,  
whispering in the grey night air, Walk the grey night air,  
calm the mind and soul, grey  levelling all.  
Pompous reds and purple, blues and yellow all the same.  
sufficient light to study shapes the round and cosy hedge  
trellis arch, its black blooms where tomorrow, red will shine.  
None compete, the bee asleep, butterfly with closed wing  
Time for rest,sleep, grey, on greys . . . . . . . . . . .  
before the sun burns the eastern sky,  
destroying gentle greys to proclaim the gaudy day.