TRAVELLERS REST.


The hedges were high around the garden
And the gate was heavy and shut quite tight.
The traveller was getting very weary
And needed shelter while it was light.

He paused at the gate with misgivings,
He wondered if he should even try
To ask for a meal and some shelter
Rather than stay under the wide open sky.

The village was still quite a distance
And the sun was westering t'ward home.
They might be greatful for the company
Out here by themselves all alone.

The gate creaked as he entered and saw
A garden very beautiful and fair,
He gazed at the trees and the roses
And lavender all tended with great care.

His weariness seemed to leave him
As he walked up to the old wooden door,
He waited not wanting to lose the spell
Of the wonderful things that he saw.

He did not notice the door open
And a child come to his side,
Then he heard a sweet whisper,
It is beautiful he said with pride.

Come in friend and have some food
And rest with us this night,
For you are tired and hungry,
You will go no farther tonight.

He followed the child into the house,
Herbs hung from the old oak beam.
The fire was glowing warm and bright,
A woman was making butter from cream.
Welcome she said with a voice that was deep,
Full of kindness and sweet tender care.
I am glad that you have found us
For it is cold and lonely out there.

They gave him a bowl of warm water
And a towel dried in the sun,
A pair of hand knitted slippers
A chair by the fire till the food was done.

Home made bread and butter with some cheese,
Thick soup and potatoes baked over the open fire.
The bed was much softer than swans down
And he felt sleep was his only desire.

He woke in the morning by a tall hedgerow,
His coat was his pillow on the hard ground.
But his knapsack held new bread and some cheese.
And a lovely red rose rested by his hand.


Ann Margetson
May 12 1995
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