The old house next to the fountain,
Overgrown by the vine
And cobweb-ridden,
Used to smell of fruit-jam,
Untidiness
And of darkness,
Autumn,
Childhood,
Eternity.
Around/ it, there were just
Silence
And wasps
And also some bird's nests
We used to go angling
For crayfish together with
Mr the priest
We would swim stark naked ,muddy,
With all the little girls
And the ducklings
The old house, near the council-flats
Has become a factory
And a supermarket
And the trees have vanished
And all smells sulphurised hydrogen
Petrol
and War
Society
it's not so Bad
It's just normal
Progress, It's called.