My View
You should have seen it last week; the cry of every aspiring
gardener.
Then, there were
stabbing spikes of
stipa,
zinging flashes of
alliums grown tall,
soft, sensual ,
promiscuous folds of peonies softly opening
crowning the view,
the stately glory of Aesculus hippocastanum
spreading her blowsy
skirts and flaunting her rose pick racemes.
But now, the 'March come lately' wind has roared out May instead.
Blown this view apart, bashed it to the ground.
Broken, beaten, bedraggled and bewildered.
Sally-ann Burley
Then and Now.
Bang of doors
Crunch of gears
Sound of horn
Squeal of brakes
Shriek of laughter
Shout of neighbours
Bark of dogs
Whistle of owners
Cry of babies
Crash of pallets
Call of birds
That was then
Now its silence, disturbing silence
with just the distant call of birds
Doreen Murdin
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