Centuries-old graves, uneven and sinking,
Like boats capsizing in a sea of green
Decaying headstones with angels aloft,
Overlook a patchwork quilt of colours.
Bluebells and buttercups speckle the floor,
Amid trees that are every shade of green,
Thick grey clouds loom heavy above,
Threatening rain that fails to fall.
At one end, the hospital stands guard, monstrous
While The Ark’s glass giraffe observes from afar
Throngs of people pound through, chatting loudly,
Seemingly oblivious to their surroundings.
As the lunchtime loiterers dwindle,
The path grows peaceful, but never silent,
A grey squirrel flirts with a lone passerby,
Playfully swishing its feather-boa tail.
Birds chirp and chatter, hidden among the trees
A tube train whistles into Barons Court station,
There’s a hum of traffic from the Talgarth Road
And a siren shrieks furiously in the distance.