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In the secret garden, there was a place with a shimmering holy well
and angels with flaming swords, guarded the entrance and time did not fall under their spell
the waters here flowed upwards, towards the misty realms of the night
to the apex of the golden mystical pryamid, that was hidden out of sight
and there was no ageing for men, if you managed to get a sip
for time here had no meaning, it was the test tube of God's lips
and psychics here had no reasoning, there was no goals or ideals
and a golden fleece hung around the well, it acted as it's shield
and if you could ever manage to slip past the guarded gate
your heart would be filled with love and completly devoid of hate
and if you see that secret garden, somewhere in your mind
mark it again to re-enter, for it's entrance you may never again find
Georges

Hey George~

Where have you been? This poem is truly lovely! A pleasure to read.

Love,
~Makera

Makera, i have been studying.
Just waiting to let rip my poetry..........
thanks for your nice reply
Best Wishes.................Georges

Hello George. Click on the link below to read one I wrote earlier. More synchronicity

viewtopic.php?t=574

Byron, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.............ooops
Georges

It was such a pleasure to read your poem again, Byron.

~ Elizabeth

Byron~

Exquisite...( The posting date particularly significant.)

~Makera

PS Pardon the non sequitur, but, regarding dates prior to certain events --
the only Cohen songs I had heard before 1987 were Suzanne, Sister's of Mercy and the 'Various Positions' album.