I use to take them,
Pocketed up against naked flesh,
Torn by hand so stem might survive,
Hidden before the park gates.

Yet there were gardens,
Along well walked streets,
Where I remembered flowering
Stalky jewel headed, against sky.

Slipped silently up the sideway,
Grabbing fists of seeded promises,
For next years storms,
And a nominated plot.

'Open Gardens', thief pickers paradise,
But a note on my garden wall
Says, 'help yourself', for we are
But a substitute for the birds.

Love Mary
Xxxxxx