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.