A Way



I saw a narrow side road unused now but

scars from cartwheels are still visible. On

both sides' walls have partly fallen down,

no longer protecting or guarding anything,

obvious except, perhaps, memories; yet

the walls, with yellows spring flowers on

looked graceful as the easterly softly blew.



I followed the road, half an hour or so, till

it ended on a field of cardinal poppies and

Spanish bluebells. The road, pointless but

lucidly romantic, tells of a time gone by,

but whether it was a good or hard time it

stays quiet, leaves it up to me to make

sense of the past and remember it gently.