The Walnut

Out the back Behind gran's house Halfway down the street. The little yard with the mangle. And the narrow concrete strip path That led to the other end, Where the walnut tree ruled. A musty tangled wilderness Of corrugated iron and wire. Only bluebells were allowed To grow in the cool shade Of the walnut tree. Spreading it's branches. Like an urban exile camouflaged Subjects Wood ants foraged it's fissured bark. In the summertime Drooling old moggies Lolled, cradled among it's boughs. Autumn, Gran stooped to gather the walnuts Stuffing them into stockings. Hanging them in cupboards. Until Christmas. My gran and the garden She shared with the walnut tree.