The World outside is cold, unclear,
Beyond the glaze is fettered fear.
Leaded lights lend the pain to
Storms in motion, falling rain.
Emerald carpet of billowing blades,
Dew-strewn dust, autumnal raids.
Glimmering tint gives stylish air
To Mother’s garden of, Earthborn fare.
Now indoors, a heated room with
Damp descending like dampened gloom.
Influenza, coughs and colds,
Bacterial bugs grimy moulds.
Curtained crevice, partitioned wall,
Manmade structure, brick built shawl.
Blocks of stone, hard grey slates,
Craftily casted designer crates.
Packaged possessions tightly tied,
Awaiting carriage in hired ride.
Once more to stand in mint crisp glade,
Inhaling memory lest, vision fades.
The path ahead seems all concrete,
Stamped, well trodden, under-feet.
Step from the path, the way ahead,
Two halves each way – traffic spread.
Across the road a wall of brick,
Six feet high six inches thick.
Beside the wall I see a tree,
Reaching out as, Earth to me.
Maid and Mother wane with the Moon,
Grandma’s turn to, play the tune.
Fruit once abundant, skilfully sown,
Seeds scattered widely, watered and grown.
Wind upon my weathered brow,
Feels the same, then as now.
It’s just the wrapping worn and creased,
Vintage vehicle, life travelled lease.
We’re one, the same sharing the ride,
My mirror image, side by Side.
© Liola Lee 2007
This is a poem I wrote about ageing….
