A garden has to be enclosed: there are rules
For creating a sacred space.
You must own the land or pay to get in:
Paradise is a privileged place.

Pale tulips stand like sentinels,
The band plays, little children dance.
The beds are mulched, the roses pruned.
Nothing here is left to chance.

Exotic birds chatter and squawk.
Round the pond are hundreds of tiny frogs.
Excluded here is man’s best friend. (Well,
If you want peacocks, you can’t have dogs.)

In late afternoon the car park clears,
A child is wailing, and tempers fray.
And then for a while, before the bell rings,
I walk with God in the cool of the day.