A House Is Not A Home
Reading Time: 2 minutes
"Pennar and Newbridge in the Rhondda, are in my maternal family's DNA, and elements descend down into the 'bones' of we the surviving family members. That is why the memories I describe hold so much meaning. These people are, were, very influential in my life." - Allen Ansell (REVISED 2023) Buckets of slag have ceased to fly. Don doesn’t whistle as he passes by Old Ty Pennar each night – His signal that all was well. Now he’s a richer man with money, But poorer for the loss of his Alice Who lays old in an early grave. Aunt Jess, too, no longer there, Where, at a few months age, Mother displayed me with pride Atop a blanket on the front lawn Twixt grandma, and the greater – Four generations shuttered still. Dear Miss Colebrook doesn’t smile Nor give me a kiss from her bed, And 'Hello Sweetie!' is but an echo. Her windows changed, roof re-slated Mod cons installed a’plenty. But only now she’s gone. Dear Aunt Marge doesn’t sit On the wall out front, where Gran and Grandad stood proud – With a gentle Cat about their feet When all was well in their world. When Grandma’s arms could Make me feel at home. It’s all changed. They’re all entombed. Including mum, Who was Ninety-Five, Then marooned in a ground-floor flat At nearby Pontllanfraith. … but the green, green lawn remains. © Allen Ansell 2023
Thoughtful and wonderful poem.
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