The long holiday.

 
Happy go lucky Ireland,
is on radio 4;
wild buttercups, daffodils and primroses,
are out in the sunny terrace garden,
I can hear a girl talking.
 
Spaghetti Junction is quiet,
it usually sounds like the sea;
the air is cleaner,
and the few birds sound less insistent.
 
Reg came round,
I sprayed everything he touched with dettol,
after he left;
his autistic lad, with skeins of blond locks,
wanted some fresh air,
in the back garden..
 
The winter spent fireworks,
lie in sand in a yellow tub;
I found some sweet pea seeds,
I will plant them where the bulbs,
eaten by the squirrels,
in the big terracotta pot, in the sun.
 
The dog next door barked,
the cat ate some fresh grass,
the Irish play,
has come outside,
as I found the portable radio.
 
I fed the sweet peas,
with the water from the winter's flood,
now it's gardeners question time;

perfect.

 
~