For many years I’ve sought a great ideal
That should be lofty, yes, but also real.
It’s why I headed for the Holy Land,
Where folk were planting orchards in the sand.
Yet now the rural spirit’s almost dead,
And cities over all the land have spread.
If every urban home could have a garden,
Then Nature would perhaps the owners pardon;
Alas, there’s neither water nor the space –
But, worse, there’s not the will for such a place.
Indeed, in beauty spots which once were quiet
Loud buggies, jeeps and motor bikes run riot.
Before I’m driven thus quite round the bend,
I must this self-inflicted exile end:
Though modern England, too, is philistine
She still has room for each to grow his vine.
The challenge therefore is to educate
Her young the Garden to appreciate.
The cottage sort I’m sure is much the best,
Since there with Nature humans least contest
While they a host of plants can cultivate
For beauty, fragrance, health and dinner plate.
Jerusalem
23 November 1996