Tweet
This poem is in our local mag.
Mowing the Allotment
Cowslips cluster on motorway cuttings,
Bellflowers bloom on buriel plots,
Strawberries flower on railway embankments
And its time for cricket
And allotment keeping.
Curtains curve clean as canvas,
Old wives' tales revive in
A wind from the East and it's time
To pay Council fees, defrost seeds
for Sunday mornings, of solitary peace.
Madge musters her late requests
More earlies, less beans, please Jack
Oh and straw flowers for my floral art.
Dont forget redcurrants and raspberries
For my summer tarts'.
Jack Sighs, shrugs, tamps tobacco.
Mentally makes space for at least
One prize marrow, cleans fork and spade.
Pumps tyres, loads trailer, adds at the last
Forbidden mags, a handmower to cut the grass.
Yes it's time, although late this year,
Time for wicket and allotment keeping.
Bats snick balls to silly mid - on, spades
Attack cold soil till Jack gets on a sweat.
Breaks out his cache of home made beer.
Drinks a toast with his neighbour, Fred
Sys " Here's to England and success "
Shines up the windows of his corrugated
Shed, settles inside for a smoke, a sleep
To dream of the summer which lies ahead.
ND ( person who wrote it )
Mowing the Allotment
Cowslips cluster on motorway cuttings,
Bellflowers bloom on buriel plots,
Strawberries flower on railway embankments
And its time for cricket
And allotment keeping.
Curtains curve clean as canvas,
Old wives' tales revive in
A wind from the East and it's time
To pay Council fees, defrost seeds
for Sunday mornings, of solitary peace.
Madge musters her late requests
More earlies, less beans, please Jack
Oh and straw flowers for my floral art.
Dont forget redcurrants and raspberries
For my summer tarts'.
Jack Sighs, shrugs, tamps tobacco.
Mentally makes space for at least
One prize marrow, cleans fork and spade.
Pumps tyres, loads trailer, adds at the last
Forbidden mags, a handmower to cut the grass.
Yes it's time, although late this year,
Time for wicket and allotment keeping.
Bats snick balls to silly mid - on, spades
Attack cold soil till Jack gets on a sweat.
Breaks out his cache of home made beer.
Drinks a toast with his neighbour, Fred
Sys " Here's to England and success "
Shines up the windows of his corrugated
Shed, settles inside for a smoke, a sleep
To dream of the summer which lies ahead.
ND ( person who wrote it )
Comment