The Trolls

 

There’s trolls at the bottom of my garden,

They are there to stay,

Hidden among the rhododendron flowers,

Living their secret way.

 

Well manicured lawns and tidy flower beds,

On a prime acre of land,

Every perfectly placed pansy growing just so,

Every inch meticulously planned.

 

Each bright green leaf at the start of spring,

To the gallery of autumn,

All the twists and turns of the garden path,

Planned down to a single tasty plum.

 

However at the end of this leafy paradise,

A wicker fence hides beasts,

Under the very neatly pruned bushes,

Some unsightly trolls feast.

 

Dining on pristine fruit and bright flowers,

The bounty of the perfect garden,

Spoiling the brilliant beauty of this backyard,

Putting this land under great burden.

 

Pulling up the freshly mown scented grass,

Plucking the vibrant petals,

Leaving bent teeth marks in the plump fruit,

Even clearing space for nettles.

 

The vista of cultivated beauty was spoiled,

This garden paradise lost,

Daises in the grass and paving going crazy,

Even the salad was tossed.

 

But from the broken ground wild plants grew,

All the colours of the rainbow,

Complementing the cultured foliage design,

And together new seeds did sow.

 

The naturally beautiful and bountiful plot,

Supported trolls and owner alike,

Precisely balanced in colour and purpose,

Time flowed endlessly dreamlike.

 

This eden has a very unique sign post,

With the perfect garden boldly named,

This green and the most pleasant land,

The name of life it proudly exclaimed.

 

 

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