Secret Garden

“Oh, that I could go out of doors and play,” Asya sighed,

her eyes alight on the glorious sunshine beyond the window,

on the golden afternoon of a lovely day.


“But alas, indoors I must stay, and to my lessons go,” she told her ginger cat Cleo,

who sat lazily by in the warm rays that sprang past the pane,

in unbothered bliss only felines such as he may know.


“And yet, my heart shall ever joyfully sing,” Asya whispered, wistful and true

“In a secret garden of roses, under a canopy of plum trees with blossoms of snow-white wings,

among the feathery nests of blue Robin’s eggs, dining on purple cabbages with fairy Kings.”