An appreciation of The Tasting Garden. A poem by Tim Hoare, a visitor to the Gardens.
Hiding In Plain Sight
You could sing out the names that fill this place
of life and colour, wild yet gentle space,
changing with the seasons: summer flow,
autumnal shed of leaves, wind, ice and snow.
Nurtured by love and husbandry, it calls
us to it’s many pleasures through stout walls
of Georgian vintage. Openings point the way
to where, once glimpsed, we surely long to stay
caught in a wonder. Where’s the city gone?
Who cares, when we have all this to gaze on:
cherries, fruiting bushes, herbs and plum,
petal heads that bid the insects come,
apples, pears, shapes of Portland stone,
sweet curves of sculpture that too have a home.
All makes a glowing corner, holy, quite,
a secret garden hidden in plain sight.