The village shop

I used to stand and scent the air,

sawdust, biscuits, oil for the lamp,

in the corner, spanish onions hanging there.

I loved the cool dark shop,

Watched the butter being pat into shape,

and the bright clear jars high on the shelf,

the toffees, bulleyes, what a choice,

school would simply have to wait!

It isn't there now,for offices hide the place,

bright impersonable windows stare down where

I used to gaze at the goods I couldn't afford,

But one day would be mine, when I was

grown and famous, and rich as rich could be

I'd come and buy the whole place up

and it would belong to me.

Progress had spread its heavy tread across

my busy shop, but memory remains of

Summer days, when it used to welcome me

and choose the shiniest apple, or marbles

for my store.

Sometimes in dreams I see it once again,

that lovely old fashioned village shop,

though it's gone for evermore.

Catherine Neale