I never saw such a posy of carnations

A flush that shade rose to my cheeks

They were delivered each day at first

Before long it was every few weeks

Flowers are yesterday and I know it

Reality can cope without fine blooms

The mundane stuff is more important

Like securing a set of cheap rooms

Memories of those sprays sustain me

Even now I can smell that African l...

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There is a room where these people go, 

All share something in common, 

They sit there, pondering, 

'Why is this happening to me?' 

They could spend hours, days, weeks, months or even years in this room, 

These people are not together, 

In fact they are all alone, 

What do they have in common? 

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from an idea by Conrad Aiken

The Lounge

Netted windows with fawn roller blinds

lowered a little by their macramé tassels for his forty winks

Shush! Be quiet, he's having his nap, don't make a din -

or completely, when at night

he shovelled the last coal from the bin

concealed in its wooden cabinet

and lowered the heavy lid on the fire to keep it in

The Playroom

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