As part of a Creative Writing class that took place here at five oak avenue one of my fairies took my piece of prose,  "A Lonely Back Garden" and changed it into a poem. It turned into something extremely different, yet the sentiment is still there.

 A Lonely Back Garden

A labyrinth of sunny days and fairytales.

Forgotten fields of climbing trees.

Smashed flower beds of soccer balls.

Cracked windows and an angry mom.

Winter nights of fireball stars,

smells of sleepy logs.

A different kind of waiting room,

Spider webbed Silence.-

Washing lines of socks and ties.

Whistling birds in gutters.

Beneath empty shells and broken dolls

 just swingless Silence-

Laura Roddy

This was the original ( which I had posted on here, but somehow managed to delete)

The worms are coursing through my veins, my blood I need to breathe. The wind glides through the grass upon my crown; it helps me to keep warm. But, its winter now and the frosty mornings make for ice down through my tummy. It’s the time of year when I’m coarse and hard and have no sympathy for pecking birds. Birds that must fly south every year and I blame it on the elements. The ice and cold are not my friends too much of them cause me damage; they stunt the flowers within my growth and cause for municipal rooting. In the spring time when it’s wet and windy and I just wish to be left, its then you come with your spade and start to dissect.

            You tear the grass from my head and start to dig holes, placing flowers in me that reach down to my bowels, extracting my life and nutrients. You have dug me up before, built a wall on me, an extension and a garden path, but don’t you realise... I am the soul of a lonely back garden, the foundation you needed for your family home, your wooden shed, your happy children. They played soccer on me, they made scuff marks on me, they slept on me and like you tried to dig me. You placed a swing on me, stabbed its feet into me. It hopped every time she swung on it, and I felt jabbing pains in my stomach, but I didn’t complain. I liked the sound of your children’s laughter, it helped me flourish. Your dog’s bountiful leaps on me, the sound of his bark, the way he too tried to dig me up with his snout burying bones that are still embedded deep under my skin.

            Your children have grown up now, and you took the swing away. The dog sleeps in his basket all day, occasionally getting up for dinner or to greet you from work. It seems that I am the only part of your family that is still left. I wait for the sunny days, when you come to the outer shrine, lay down your blanket and lie on me, the worms still eating through me -Our pulses beating as one. I am the soul of your back garden, please don’t forget me.