He is our next door neighbor.
His name is Mister Quinn.
He is known in every house around
for his gorgeous rose garden.

A wise and kind old gentleman
of the Mourmon faith is he.
With his loving wife, together,
they see a granddaughter in me.

And thus we live
this pastoral peace
'til nigh on my age of four;
I grow to love the roses,
and spend a lot of time
next door.

He teaches me about the flowers'
special secrets not to tell--
and while he is pruning
it is ME he is grooming
to keep sick sordid secrets . . .
well.

He entices me with names
of a child's games
he says we are going to play--
suddenly inside
behind closed doors,
I can't make him go away!

So, through my ages four and five,
such is the new lay of the land:
His gorgeous roses keep a-glowing,
while his Secret Garden he is growing.

Somewhere a gracious veil drops
and he stops--
I know not when.
For the next few years
I only know the simple
beauty of the garden.

Then God saw fit
this veil to lift,
one day at my age of ten.
The events to unfold,
by any account,
are throws of my
outrageous fortune.

'Tis a fine Summer's day
and as is my way
watering the Roses am I,
when off to my side
his countenence belies
once again from sickness
he spies.

Through shock's fog ever-thick
it is impossible to miss--
his hand at his crotch I see.
"What the Hell are you looking at?"
I demand of him staring at me.

"Oh, just checkin' how you're developin' "
he croons as smooth as you please.
An inner dam gives way
as the memories flood--
I nearly collapse at my knees.

But somewhere deeper
I am not so suprised--
somwhow I have always known.
Now the Truely daunting trouble
is what to say when I get home.

For how does Daddy's little girl
speak of such heonous and absurd
crimes against her very person
for which she has no words???

And, how is it that I am
just telling now,
what he did so long ago.
WHY I did not tell it then
I cannot begin to know.

So within this BOX
that has no out
have I the strength to stay???
Of the End of My World
I have no doubt
should I say what I'd have to say!

REGARDLESS OF THE OUTCOME . . .
Daddy kills him.
We move . . . to where???
HE kills Me, at his next possible opportunity.

Silence is GOLDEN.
Even if it is pitch dark
in the box that has no out--

and the beautiful garden
is devasted in my flood.
Dead roses float past on the sea
of my impossible memories.

I can Never go near that man--
even if they ALL think I've lost it!

My Eternity lasts three days . . .

"Come here darlin'," my Mama says.
"Mr. Quinn died of a heart attack
last night. -- Now, honey,
it will be all right . . . "

Never again have I been more relieved--
even at ten, I had to believe
God had answered a prayer
I knew not how to pray,
when death swept Mr. Quinn
from my life that day.

Until now, this 'whole' story
very few know.
It has been a precious secret
between me and the roses.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

.

Yes, it is true . Please feel FREE with me.
This a great milestone in completion of healing.