Hyacinths on a gramophone.
Alone
They stood
On polished wood.
Their scent carrying me back
Down childhood’s track.
The flower’s smel
Blossoming in a wishing well
With a plastic handle.
My thought tangles
With the ivy that
In a bowl sat.

As a boy
My goal was joy.
The earth was good as the man.
I can
Recall
Honeysuckle on a garden wall
And roses, their scent
Is long since spent.
My grandfather went away
Yet in my heart he stays
As I lose myself, in spring days