The Garden.
(Orwell Road..late 50’s)
The gardener Fey...eyes to the ground
A pipe..A cough....a running nose
Wherever he rakes or digs or hoes
A tobacco trail is left behind
He wears black boots with round flat toes
Avoca weavers tweed check cap
Old coat with elbow holes.
Green apples on the apple trees
Parsley in the ground...
Sour gooseberries.... lettuce leaves
Solid Urns... and waspy plums..
The zig zag paving thru the grass
Is stoney.. hard to walk.
The air-raid shelter lies half hidden
After the war and under in the earth.
And to the front the grass is tightly mowed
Where Scarlet Roses grow.
They are dark blushing harlots
Swaying with the softer pinks and purple pansies
Around the cheerless hedge.
The garden trim, is was tight and clean
The gate is always closed..no welcome in.
No sound of children playing ball
Or laughing on the lawn
That is forbidden.
Kristine Byrne ..2012