It was always hard to know
Who hid in the hedges
Who flickered like flames out of sight
The end of the garden
The crackle of the night
It was hard to see
Through the branches and the sounds
And push away the leaves to where the secret fires burned
To think what might simmer
In the cauldron of darkdreaming
And I could never go
To the end of the garden
Not on my own, with my net and my penknife
Only with you, and your eyes snapping bright.