Is Beauty for the world to see?
Or is it a secret only for me?
I enter my secret garden and tred lightly
but I still leave broken things behind.
How can I let in armies, if I'm unkind?
Would that secret garden, not be a secret;
and folks take off their jackboots at the door,
and put on winged sandals to walk the floor.
When I open up my secret garden to the world,
I risk barbarian invasion.
Incoming blind, destructive,
turning my garden to a dusty swirls.
All the beauty in my secret garden,
trampled by unthinking boots.
But is that garden really mine?
I claim it with my effort and mind,
But keeping it a secret breeds barbarian children,
who clamor at the door.
"Let me in! Let me in!"
I want to see this beauty once more.
Let's teach our children to grow up,
and take off their shoes, put on slippers,
and leave them at the door.
Christopher H. Holte