The Gnomes

When people are sleeping,
And the moon is clear and bright,
Little figures come to play away the night
They chase each other round and round,
Hide between the trees, swinging from
the roses, dancing round the peas. Your garden is their world,
Which you have made for them,
Little gnomes who are all good friends
They laugh and cry together, depending
on the weather, each one hopes for
happiness to last for ever and ever. When morning comes they return to
their little homes, busy holding fishing rod
and some stuck between stones
For now they are plastic, some are made
of clay. Patiently waiting for the end of day.

by Stephen Freeman

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