While the other kids played
I would stumble down the street
to the garden where you dug,
not for Britain, but for you.
In my cousins’ rubber wellies
and my hand-me-down dresses
that were always far too long,
you simply smiled at me, and said
“Hallo sunshine, step on.”
You would let me stand upon the fork
my feet perched high.
Your little bird who chattered in her happy sky.
And your foot would press against my foot.
We’d plunge together into earth
turned with Fullers laced with mirth.
You never asked me why
I always came to you back then?
Today, it simply got too late.
I heard the news.
And that they’re going to cremate.
