Poem:Those Were The Days.
Those Were The Days.
.
.
Such tiny things can bring pleasure.
As I turn into my Nan’s yard
I can smell the familiar aroma
Of scones, drifting through
From the widely opened back door
Where she stands in the kitchen
Dressed in a flowery pinny
Making scones just for me.
She turns, with a bent wrist
Brushing hair away from
Her flushed pink cheek,
And she smiles for me.
.
.
