The Allotment

My Father had a large allotment which he tended to with pride.
Many times he would take me there when I was a child.
He taught me all about the flowers and which were weeds to be pulled out,
Often he would scold me when I got it the other way about.

I spent joyful hours there seeing the plants grow,
Eating tomatoes from his greenhouse, though he pretended not to know.
I loved the smell of his tobacco as it floated in the breeze,
The perfume of his flowers and the twittering in the trees.

The old seat by the lilac tree, where I'd sit in the sun
And watch him pull the vegetables which he'd take home to mum.
The old shed in the corner with the rusty window frame,
The wooden chair inside it where I'd shelter from the rain.

I have my own garden now, where I spend many happy hours,
Digging, planting, weeding, seeing the budding of the flowers
And when they each come into bloom, I look back and see
My father, the allotment, and the lovely legacy he left me.