Honest Toil. A poem by Jenni Wyn Hyatt (Y Dryw)

I’m even cleaning windows;
it’s like a crazy dream –
the height of my ambition
to make my casements gleam!

The ancient motorhome and car
are sparkling on the drive
but neither can be used just now –
I’d rather stay alive!

Films give me travel sickness;
there’s rubbish on the telly –
so I’m concocting strange new meals
to put inside my belly;

I’ve re-embarked on knitting
but I’m inept and slow –
that must be why I gave it up
so many years ago!

My son’s in Barcelona
imprisoned in a flat –
I have my glorious garden –
I’m very glad of that!

The flower beds are pristine;
it’s great – but, do you know
it’s really come to something
when you’re begging weeds to grow!

I’m grateful now to simple things
like saucepans, dusters, soil,
for helping me appreciate
the worth of honest toil!

Jenni Wyn Hyatt