My Garden Gnome.

My Garden Gnome.

By P.S. Gifford

For years I chatted to my garden gnome-
and he always listened to me.
He always sat there motionless,
with his permanent look of glee.

I told him all my secrets.
I told him of my dream.
I told him all my deepest fears.
And things that make me scream.

I told him of my writing,
And all that I have done.
I told him when I was happy-
and I told him when I was glum.

This morning as I sat there,
Idly chattering away to him-
He suddenly looked a little odd,
and then his rant did begin

I have heard all your secrets.
I have heard all about your dream.
I know all about your deepest fears.
And I know what makes you scream.

I know about your writing.
And all that you have done.
I know when you are happy,
and I sure know when you're glum.

I sat listening to my garden gnome
And I suddenly felt afraid!
So I marched into my garden shed,
to go and fetch my spade!

Intent on burying my garden gnome-
And he watched on, fear etched in his eyes.
But, I could not perform that morbid task,
and I was rewarded with a surprise.

For he now sits proud upon my desk
And his chattering has gotten worse
There is one lovely upside though…
He helps me write my verse.