The Secret Garden - Part Two

A house in the country, a house of dark stone; Beside the bleak moors, it stands proudly alone. A huge house, with towers and stables and halls, And ancient wild ivy enshrouding its walls. Once teaming with servants and elegant guests; Its heyday is over, it peacefully rests. The rooms mostly empty, all settled with dust; The front door, unused now, is seized up with rust. The wind in the chimneys, that once caused such fear, Is now a mild comfort to those who live here. Though laden with memories - some of them ill, This house is a home - a beloved one - still. A barn and an orchard, a stream and a bridge, A glimpse of a lake and a wood from the ridge. A dovecote, a greenhouse, a well, dark and deep, And acres of grassland embroidered with sheep. A garden, secluded - high walls all around; The garden that Mary, a little girl, found. For ten years abandoned, and quite overgrown; Condemned by a sadness to languish alone. With roses untended, and blossom unseen, And weeds going wild in a tangle of green. Till Mary, young Mary, discovered the door, And what was once secret was secret no more. Now many long summers of childhood have passed, With many uncertainties settled at last. The boy who was crippled now walks straight and tall, And shows no resentment or anger at all. His father is gone now, and resting in peace; A man whose life changed, with the help of his niece. And she - now a beauty, all graceful and grown, With needs and desires and dreams of her own. Tossed, as by chance, at this desolate place, Forced to look grief and despair in the face. Yet how it's turned out she can hardly believe; Now nothing on earth could entice her to leave! Let's look - on this glorious, warm summer day - At the garden where three children once used to play. It's brimming with flowers, exploding in bloom, The colours and fragrances jostling for room. A sprinkling of birdsong, a background of bees, A rabbit asleep in the shade of the trees. A patch of thick clover, a fishpond nearby, A stillness disturbed by a laugh and a sigh. A man and a woman, entwined on the ground, Their clothes lying randomly scattered around. It's Colin and Mary, alone in the sun, A beautiful love drawing two into one. They're happy, so happy - it shows on each face, Happy to be in this dear, secret place. Together forever, they vow as they kiss, Exchanging caresses that lead them to bliss. Their eyes close - they don't see a dark shadow pass. They don't see the raven alight on the grass. They don't hear the footsteps, they don't feel the stare, But - no doubt about it - there's somebody there. It's Dickon, all rugged, and fresh from the moor, From watching the eagles high up on the tor. All flushed with emotion, his clothes all askew, He catches his breath at the sight of those two. He looks at his Mary, her full naked breasts, On which Colin's head so contentedly rests. He cannot hold back, he steps into the light; He sees how the couple start upwards with fright. He trembles beside them, his knees going weak, He's aching with feeling but finds he can't speak. Then Mary smiles up at him, friendly and calm, And holds out a slender and welcoming arm. He drops to her side, to accept her embrace, And touches his lips to the warmth of her face. But how can this happen? Does Colin not care? No - Colin has fingers in Dickon's red hair. Two men and a woman, as close as can be, Discovering passion, as two yields to three. Enraptured, ecstatic, and thrilled to the core, For what was once secret is secret no more.