It lies abandoned at the bottom of the garden,
long grass growing through its rusted holes.
Holding nothing but memories, abandoned
and rusted with holes. I remember the warm fire,
and hot water. I remember the smell of soap,
and warm towel. My grandfather splashing
and singing his favourite hymn.
I hear his voice echoing through my mind,
yet the words are no longer there.
I see his smile, yet his face has faded
from my memory. His strong mind and firm body.
Muddled thoughts and twisted bones.
I can’t remember him growing old.
Memories abandoned at the bottom of the garden.
Eroded by time. Hidden behind a wall
and out of sight. Long grass grows through its rusted holes.
Rowland Hughes ©