The Allotment Poem by Barry Pook

My grandfather passed it down to my dad,
It was when grandad died, very sad,
Dad beavered away and got it going,
Through heavy digging and seed sowing.

I remember going as a child,
When it was sunny or very mild,
Picking blackberrys for a pie,
My mum would make it by and by.

Got older and i learned the trade,
I followed just how vegetables were made,
Tying the beans and supressing the weeds,
Dad instructed the plants wants and needs.

Then when it was time for dad to go,
He helped me from above to continue to grow,
I persevered with this for many years,
Sometimes with happi ness and others with tears.

Eventually there came a time to stop,
My back gave in, couldn't harvest the crop,
With sadness it was me that had to go,
Didn't want to give up but so ended the show.

I handed in the keys, gave friends some tools,
My eyes welled up like seashore pools,
But a rainbow appeared on that day,
Saying both grandad and dad loved me anyway.