Old Bob – Poem

This is one of a series of poems, written by my Grandmother, that represent a portrait of her childhood in Thomas Hardy’s Wessex, places and people she loved who are, for the most part, no longer with us.

She dedicates each and every poem to her daughters, and has kindly given me permission to share them with you all, enjoy…

Old Bob

I was in the walled garden, I remember

It was a curious fact, but here

Enclosed and sloping southwards, it was always

Noticeably warmer. And near,

Against the walls, raspberries in profusion

And loganberries, luscious red,

Grew with a wild abandon. Here they found me

And here they told me, ‘Bob is dead.’


He was getting old, older than I was then,

And long ago had ceased to work,

Enjoying freedom, rolling in the grass, and

Munching up the apples, a perk

He’d shared with me. Now Father and Grandfather

Tried not to show their tears, and grief

Bound us together, there within the garden

Where death had entered like a thief.


© Dorothy Davis-Sellick 1998 onwards


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Filed under Meet The Family, Other Folks Writings That I Like, Poem Of The Week, Poetry

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