Gardens of Niflhel

Beyond that Well, whose ancient masonry
Reaches to the Roots, moss covered and thick threads,
There are terraced gardens, rich with white fleshy flowers,
And flutter of night bird and flutterby and bee.
There are walking trails and bridges arching over
Warm indigo lotus-pools reflecting hof eaves,
And black cherry trees with delicate boughs and leaves
Against purple petals where mead-colored herons hover.
All is there still, even after old dreams flung
Open, and the gate torn asunder to that stone circle
Where drowsy streams fall upon winding ways,
Trailed by shimmering green vines dripping from bending branches.
I preserve both dreams, of wall strong and ancient, and grim and great,
The Well still stands that leads to the gate.