Our -thorps and -hams and -fords
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
The oldest towns and hamlets have their time
Imagined on an unseen silent dial.
It almost has a moss growth. In their prime
(Which never has been marked) and was a while
Ago (beyond recall) they were the same
As now or so much nearly that that they
Are measured by their lack of mentioned shame.
If crimes have happened, they have gone astray
In histories like a horse-drawn cart that turned
To foreign roads and then got lost in mist.
Undoubtedly the women sat and churned
Their buttermilk and daydreamed of a tryst
So long gone now it might have never been.
Forgotten annals leave these places clean.
