Such a precise blooming of spring flowers

Sitting and thinking for hours and hours

My great aunt owned land, married a POW,

Did what she had to do on Pickmere lake,

And the pear trees we robbed. All those cats,

I felt sorry for the mice and rats. Uncle Hans,

With his German accent and dirty, hard hands. 

I had just about missed the time of the horse 

Even then the diesel engine frightened the hens

But the moments of quiet were so fully replete

With undertones of my great grandparent's farming

Along Doomsday lines. Now the lot's been sold off

For executive housing, as divorced from a Cheshire

Mere as a rumbling stomach from a 5-course dinner.