A Great Garden Of Sleep Poem by M. A Heathcote

Some folks do say
That strange things happen hereabouts
When the sun goes down and the moon
Resides in heavenly clouds
Some folks do say that the country's finest.
Gardens of eternal rest
A great garden of sleep resides in us all
It rests at your doorstep with a burnished red rose.
Where the phantoms of some graveyard
Go searching, looking for a new head valet
Wanting you tied and enslaved to the post.
To tend to a noble person, his clothes and shoes
Only you're still alive, bumbling around.
And haven't yet received the welcome good news.
And yet feed a burnished red rose some more manure.
And hope it will still recover and truly flower at best.
A rose of split colour like a love-struck fool.