It is now seven years since we bought the Oleander (above in the center) in a pot from London, it had belonged to my mother. We were advised that it would not survive in the salt sea winds. Even Digit on Sussex Radio said it would be best send it back to London to someone we know and to visit.
Luckily it has been happy to have a home in the greenhouse, where I am sure my mother’s spirit may still wander.
The Oleander
We found it in Albi,
no gentle sketch
but boldly painted
bright and blowzy
heady with scent,
out for a good time.
In London,
loving the culture
pink petals
flirted with passers-by
revelled in attention
posed for pictures.
Uprooted to Brighton
in a white fleece shroud
it faltered
leaves fell
naked boughs mourned
sensing life had passed.
Two years later
in a new pot
on a south facing wall
tiny green shoots emerge,
pink blossoms
show their party faces.
This is an older poem but I still have affection for it. I just couldn’t get it to copy and paste into single spacing so looked better centered. I might conquer wordpress . . . one day!
Ann Perrin 