deepundergroundpoetry.com

London Pride  ( saxifraga urbium )

Does the rose beside the green front door  
bloom as when I was youth ?
Does the gate clash against the post  
the spring that gave us rides  
sitting on the bar, six-gun at the ready;  
waiting for the sheriff and the call to dinner ?
Is the London Pride beside the path,  
the zigzag line of bricks, still there?  
fluff from rugs shaken every week  
clinging to the terracotta edging.  
 
I would go back ,but know the answer.  
The place was home, apple trees and chickens  
'copper'in the scullery, Yorkist Range  
in the kitchen, clip-rug on the hearth,  
bones stewing in the oven every day,  
washing on the clothes-horse, waiting  
for the rain to stop, steaming up the windows.  
Nostalgia isn't what it was, memories fade, distort.  
A rose beside the green front door ...   ...   ...  
London Pride and dreams.
Written by Kexby (john rickell)
Published | Edited 14th Jun 2018
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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