The only way in, in the end, was through the graveyard.
When I finally reached the church
The door was closed
The way was blocked
The entrance was locked.
With access denied
I continued on
Until I saw this sign:
“The Walled Garden”.
What treasures grow within?
Perhaps we shall never discover.
My heart is as a walled garden.
I forsook the occluded narrow path
And laboured back up the hill
Using the broad road.
It was shared with mad drivers
Hastening to what end, I do not know
But there was a sign:
“Men At Work”
And there is work yet to be finished.