OUR FAMILY COTTAGE BY FIONA CUMMINGS

OUR FAMILY COTTAGE

BY FIONA CUMMINGS

A little cottage

To whom I pay homage?

 For in winter

Did glow the ambers

From an oak to a splinter

Crackling cinders

Dusty dark coal

Keeping us toasty

Away from the cold

Whilst the chimney is Smokey

Forming clouds so ghostly

Next to the hearth

Dried our shoes, coats and scarf

Flames so feisty

Our cheeks were rosy

Outside so frosty

Icicles hung from the rooftop

On the stove stood a pot

Of food so deliciously hot

An old wooden table we all had our spot

Dad at the top

Mum close to the youngest, of us

There was always a good feeling

Never any fuss

Homely food

Candles did glow

Looking so appealing

In a small room walls of wood

Floor the same

A very high ceiling

With the small drawer table

Where we played a game

There was no Television

And was far from aggression

We all had compassion

And time for each other

Two older sisters and my little brother

All girls in one bedroom

And an outside bathroom

Where the door would allow in rain making pools

Whilst it did shake

It was home to garden tools

 Like the rake

A turned up bath

Which we carried down the path

Into the house

And fill with buckets of water

Mum first then the eldest daughter

In summer we would bring in supper

We never starved, no one did suffer

The hen’s eggs collected by our brother

And potatoes big sister

A cabbage from one of us and perhaps some carrots

Soft fruits

And planted beetroots

Picked in spring tulips

And Dad kept his ferrets

In fields we sang ballads

 Whilst sun beat against our brow

We just did what we had to

  No one asked why or how

Then we all grew up

And moved on to modern life

Twas then when I learned the meaning of strife

Long gone is our little house

Was replaced by tarmac

And filled with traffic

Our beautiful trees

Fell to their knees

Cut down by sadness

A world of madness

Our fire was replaced

By smoke from the factories face

Now bricks and metal

Protect us from winter’s dark

And for a light a button

No more spark

All forgotten

People too busy

Peaceful pathways rotten

It’s crazy

But in my mind

I remember days of kind

When families mattered

Our clothes were tattered

But minds didn’t play tricks

Now wires replace sticks

And we throw away rather than fix

So I write this to pay homage

To our little wooden cottage

And the meaning of caring

The joy of sharing

For now we feed

On a life of greed

I will never forget

The working sweat

Or, the handmade chess set

I would give anything to go back in time

Away from crime

Debt

And constant threat

For in my home

 I stand alone

A silhouette

Aroom of chrome

A voice on the telephone

Knows nor cares of me

I would do anything to bring back a family

 

 

Copyright Fiona Cummings 2015