When I pick up Sweet Williams
And inhale their spiced perfume,
I see them on the windowsill
Of our tiny old back room.
Their sweet indented petals,
Coloured every shade of pink,
Glowed so bright in that urban gloom
They almost made me blink.
They’d grown on Dad’s allotment –
An expanse of air and sun –
Along with fruits and vegetables
He brought home for my Mum.
Sweet Williams bring it home to me
I’m still the child I used to be.