The Glory of the Garden Designer

As you know, I'm a bit of a fan of Rudyard Kipling, and I was trying to put my own spin on his poem entitled "The Glory of The Garden". It went a bit off course, but I thought I'd share it with you anyway. I know I should have been doing some other stuff - but when I get the wordy bug I just can't seem to stop.

The Glory of the Garden Designer

Our aim is building gardens that are full of stately views
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues
With waterworks and terraces - perhaps some modern art
And sometimes it’s impossible to know just where to start

The survey and analysis, let’s get them underway
Far better when it’s snowing, or at least a rainy day
And standing there in wind and hail when nothing could seem dafter
Is vital, if you want to emphasise Before and After.

Our work pertains to gardens and such gardens are not made
By saying “oh how beautiful” and sitting in the shade.
The measurements must all be took and structure put in place
And Ching consulted lest we make a mess of form and space.

Put yourself within it! You must be spatially aware!
And that will never happen from the depths of your armchair.
If you really must sit down, try reading books by Crowe or Lloyd
They help to ascertain the things important to avoid.

It helps to lose your grip on practicality and truth
Put nothing in the earth and grow it all upon the roof
It seems that fads are everything - designs aren’t worth a jot
Unless they’re full of cor-ten steel and logs just left to rot

We strive to innovate, to make the space bizarre and bold
And link it up to what we’ve learned and qualities of old.
Surprise the visitors with ice cold water in their faces!
And yards of snowy concrete, just to emphasise the spaces.

Make it different, make it new, you must have innovation!
How to ensure that passers-by remember your creation?
A glass wall and a waterspout, a lurid box of Perspex
No planting – that would nullify the purity of concept.

But what about the wonder of a new unfurling leaf?
A crystal dewdrop poised to fall upon the earth beneath?
The fat and blowsy borders, which narrow paths in June?
The stillness of the woodlands, beneath a summer moon?

To emphasise a beauty that we cannot replicate
To frame it, serve it up, and just arrange it on the plate.
Surely this is what we do? Or am I all alone?
In thinking we can’t better nature’s glories of her own.

I’ll never be an artist; I know I can’t be taught
I’ll never get to Chelsea or show off at Hampton Court
But one day I’ll make gardens which will only be a canvas
For glorifying nature and the wonders that surround us.

If I can make a difference to a wasted piece of ground
Or plant some trees to outlive me and spread some joy around
These years of slaving, drawing, planning, won't have been for nought
And maybe I'll survive to utilise what I've been taught!

Luckily I didn't ever think I'd make much money
And when I started all my friends just thought it really funny
But when my work is finished I will wash my hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!