Piccadilly Gardens Poem by Maureen Pickford

The old Queen is still there,
A tear in her eye
I fancy.
A sitting tenant,
She guards her
Phantom garden.

Peel back the years.

And there am I
A girl in a striped blazer,
Skipping with a light heart
Through the heady perfume
Of a thousand
Purple, white and pink
Hyacinths.

Office workers and shop girls
Unwrap pleasantries
Along with their home made sandwiches.
They bask amongst
Well tended flowers
On a lunch break
That lasts for
One whole hour.

Sadly now
A concrete jungle.
The greasy odour
Of fast food joints
Hangs in the air
As harassed looking people
Quickly snatch a bite
And not a flower in sight!

I might send
A wreath
To the City Council
From us both
Victoria and I
In remembrance.