Six-foot fence with trellised side,
The English garden’s secrets hide,
The timber slats take brunt of wind,
The knots fall out the eyes peek in.
A thought, a seed, a moment spared,
A springtime hope a freedom dared,
Then scrawny, wiry, twisted stems,
Grapple with the timber hems.
Reaching, curling, wriggling free,
A leafy mass the skies can see,
 A shower above; a force beneath,
The fence redundant now retreats.
Now dawn horizon greets the day,
Clematis flowers in full array,
 Boundary wooden line now hides,
This floral fence shall take no sides.
©Philip Holden


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