I'm fond of thinking of
Little towns I never knew more of
Than a name, a blooming of meaning
For someone else
Wandsworth, for example
Where is that?
What root colour does its name bring up
Through ink and rising yeast of
Mucky history, what
Legends roam there, who tells the stories in
Such a place?
My questions lie in courtesy
For I expect no wonders from a place such as Wandsworth
Nor would I expect my own beginnings
To tingle much whiskers
But I know
Every corner and straight of my hometown
Every cranny and nook of where I'm from
Every thought of deflated or ardent home grown hope which springs
From every river I know my place
And someone knows Wandsworth
Some lover is leaving there now
Some legend is lacking a purpose there
Some houses are filled with public displays
Of memories made, of remembrances paid
Who calls that place home?
I know they're out there,
Thinking of something
And looking up hoping
Perhaps writing of me
As I ponder what life read to them
And had me read back
Curious love for knowing of others
And the sleep which follows
To forgetting such things
Forever
The town itself is of no significance, I just needed a name I liked to ponder the fact that people out there are living completely different lives to me. Makes for musings, I think
