Dark wrought iron gates,
imposing in their stance,
mask the beauty
that lies within
the red brick walls,
that hide the mystery.
A path strewn with gravel,
Guardians made of oak,
Casting shadows
over pastures
Of buttercups,
Pleading for sunshine.
Goddess Diana,
Arms raised to heaven,
Rests on silver
Pools of water,
And showers
All in her midst.
Fallow deer stand grazing
Heads raised to stare,
At this intrusion
Of their kingdom.
Saying goodbye,
I hold the memory.
©T.J.El-Nabarawy
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