The peppered tang of spired lupins
Fills my nose with memories sweet
Of childhood days in Piggott’s garden
Or Fowlers Field on special treat.
It never rained, save Summer shower,
We all ate ice-cream on the lawn,
And chocolate when it came off ration.
All this before our adult dawn.
Elsie’s wed and moved to Wombourne.
I’ve a beard and Johnny’s dead.
Were these things all that important?
Or is it only in my head?