This a mystery of Moon <br />Where silver shadows cast by cactus burr <br />The shallow fish flash steam <br />Reflect the jungle ambience of place <br />Out side the lawn guarded by the Queen's Beasts <br />and heavy trod by tourists <br />Retains a spring in the turf that is special. <br />On through blue bell valley to heavy wood by slow majestic river <br />Dark is the wood and heavy with a Victorian air <br />Circumscribed by pampas grass from South America, <br />This typically English Glade. <br />The call of Children echoes through the trees <br />A crunch of plastic sandwich wrapper <br />Distorted under foot by hurried dinner <br />departing from the Pagoda Cafe. <br />Squirrels near by opportunistically twitch <br />Raised on haunches heads alert for fallen crumbs <br />Or discarded pork pies <br />Not a natural diet, but fat squirrels live in Kew <br />Sustained in the good life of by the droppings of the mainly <br />Plodding through the gardens, <br />Receiving a carefully measured dose of beauty <br />Enough if stored carefully to see them through <br />The dull, damp slogginess of an Albion Winter. <br /> <br />On wing high above the rough river side field <br />A hawk waits on the careless mouse, <br />His dinner to peruse <br />Still, shimmering in the still warm sky <br />Further up the Jumbo Roars and coughs it's way to earth <br />Heathrow
