in circles round the city. No space
to sit, to be, to breathe.
But there's a ruin: old house
overgrowth toying at its walls.
And through a gate, barred yet
open to a wandering soul
and padding feet will lead you there.
Up a brick stair and out
from the lusty bracken, higher
until you ring the city ringed by cars;
a quiet terrace. Sunny spots
and peaceful benches, their firm seat
reassuring like a hand on your shoulder.
Old couples come here. You will see
them strolling, quietly. It seems they know
how sweet earth grown scent
can rest a heart, and mind with things to say.
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