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Rose Garden

So I am writing in the rose garden,
singing summer songs,
children led by parents chanting,
“ring a ring a roses,”
ripples through from the playground.
Somehow her voice annoys me,
I wish to tame the shrew,
I know not why, this is hardly Shakespearean –
I long to smell the roses – an aeroplane in
flight, children’s shrieks and laughter.
I see some running
feet. Somewhere close,
sports are being played.
I am in a sun spot
on a boiling summer’s
day. Yet the Victorian
gardens appear relatively
unused – the children
run passed straight
through – yet two
girls enjoy
hide and seek – will mum
sneak a peek? Off they go.
She trundles on with
buggy, lets them play,
they are in their hideaways,
having fun, the morning’s gone.

About Geraldine Ward

Geraldine Ward has been writing and performing various forms of poetry and prose from an early age, and is a regular contributor at the London Farrago Poetry Slam nights. She has published a number of books including the "Now" collection, and has featured in other publications including Katie Metcalfe's "Beautiful Scruffiness" series of magazines.


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