A Kingdom in His Pocket

His little kingdom has long since been paved with houses, houses, houses.
Reverted pasture, walked-off in the great depression, wilderness again.
Six hundred acres, blackberry, manuka, gorse, remote from roads was his.
His until war ended and a then-released suburbia would ravage countryside.
That wasteland had been visited by no-one else for years, perhaps his lifetime.
And since at ten a decade was forever, that specified the pocket virgin land
With he its first explorer hacking jungle trails clearing to clearing,
Breaching guardian thorns and vines charmed wards of hidden pools
Pools home to languid mottled fish not knowing man. He thought them mountain trout.
Years later, he would know them as Galaxia. No matter. They were his
To catch or, better, quietly sit and watch. Soul therapy this watching fish.
Even the most sociable have need at times for some retreat wholly their own
And this was his. His stargaze world. His kingdom of redemption and refreshment.