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
|