Behind dark, twining ivy, On an old, Victorian wall, Where moths and small flies flutter, And spiders weave and crawl, There's a rusty lock that's hidden In a peeling, old oak door – They who find the key are bidden To unlock a treasure store, For behind those creaky hinges Lies a garden of delights, Only known to special people Who appreciate such sights. Once an ailing, sickly schoolboy To whom life was only pain Found the garden and its pleasures, Helped him grow and thrive again. A young woman walked unaided Midst the sunshine and the flowers, And a man, betrayed by heartache Found true comfort in those bowers. Seek the door, unlock its treasures, For it's there for everyone In that special, secret garden Where the love goes on and on. Poem Secret Garden by: M. Nash Photo Secret Garden by: smoove