John Jenkins' Garden (Aberdare) Poem by Jean Bernard Parr

The cat sits on the garden wall
and slowly licks his paw
there are things rusting in the garden,
some to do with ships.
Here on the wolf-grey zig zag hill
a rowan explodes with berries.
Behind the gribbly door
paint peeling world map,
closed as a damp book
an arch of brick,
birthday-cake pink
John Jenkins came back.
He never did the garden, and now
he looks out over a sea of green
that covers all the rusting things
that had to do with ships