Our House

This house is almost empty now
Home for five it used to be,
Many a laugh and many a row,
And now there's only me.

Part of it's bricks and mortar are we,
Part of its very being.
Chris a toddler when we came
Ant and Lynnes beginning.

A lot of laughter it has seen
A lot of sadness too.
Crowded it was and full of life
Clever we were, successful and bright
Gone now, there's only me.

Lonely and empty it must feel,
After years of life lived through,
I wonder who will take it on
When at last I'm dead and gone
And there's not even me.

Before the move.

At last I'm leaving 29
No tears, no regrets, I'm feeling fine.
Frost lies thick on grass and car
Slippery the hill and pavements are.

How lovely not to worry so
When both are thickly spread with snow.

On the whole it hasn't been
A happy house,
A tranquil scene,
Like my old life,
With lots of woe,
I feel it's really time to go.

Snow Feb 14th

Round the corner spring might be,
But today it seems like we
Will be skidding down our hill.
Not me though, I'll stay still
Inside my darling "Grot Box" home
That my daughters so despise.
To me it's small, familiar, dear,
I've no wish to go from here.
Except, perhaps on days like this
When snow shines bright in lamp-light.
Clinging to trees and cars alike.
My little car will stay outside.
Shopping forsaken,
Me spending the time
Making a steak and kidney pie,
And cake's in the kitchen,
Where heat will be high.

Marooned are we, up here in the snow
It's then that I really want to go
Somewhere that's flat and snug and right
I think that Stockbridge would be nice
But no hope for us at all
We stay here till we get "the call"
Then carried out from here we'll be
Our tiny home where I brought up all three.
They never complained how poor it was then
Ideas of grandeur came later to them.

The Sycamore

Pale bright green against
The cold April sky.
A silver plane floats overhead
Washing, flapping in the wind.
And yet my heart feels just like lead.

But still my eyes feast
On that new green leaf
Etched on the hue
of Spring's bright blue.

4-4-90

After the move.

Home, my home for 55 years
I suppose it will always be
A part of me.
My babies were there,
My life was there,
My husband too
My past.

Now my shorter future begins
A shorter chapter.
On this dark and dreary Sunday morning
No. 1 Martlets Court
Seems almost hostile in its strangeness.

My life still seems to be
In that drafty, bright little house on the hill.
There, left, forgotten with my cleaning bag
Hanging in the cupboard under the stairs,
Poignant, somehow, that bag that I forgot,
It seems to symbolize my life.
Hard work, maybe,
Three children hairdressing.
I needed some money to call my own.
Gardening, which I hated,
But did mostly unaided,
Because I had a totally lazy husband,
Who thought my lot was to serve,
No wonder he loved me, I cooked a lot,
And even decorated some of it.

And yet, 29 was far from all unhappiness
We laughed a lot
Even though I cried a lot.
I had 3 good friends,
And much later, a good man who loved me
As I deserved to be loved.

So goodbye dear old 29
I have no regrets at leaving
But you will always be my life