This is a small home, but it fits. Adults, children, bibelots and books: all have their allotments.
There is garden, but it is intimate: it invites hours for work and reflection, not endless drudgery.
So goodbye asbestos shed. Goodbye creepers and deadly nightshade. And goodbye grass and grass and grass. Because we are grass too:
Cut grass lies frail:
Brief is the breath
Mown stalks exhale.
Long, long the death
- from 'Cut Grass', Philip Larkin