The pond - so languid, peaceful, circled by trees, A pair of wallowing ducks with chicks beside; Now one by one, across the pond they glide, In truth, so tranquil and calm, I feel at ease. And there, the rectory, school and village store, The church that overlooks the houses so fair; Above, the swifts are darting here and there, Beyond the pond the homes that need no more. So calm, Elysian and blest the village seems, The street is neatly lined with flow’ring trees; A flurry of petals, a gentle stirring breeze, Memories of times now past, of wistful dreams. Our lives - exclusive, urbane, refined, so neat, Our gardens – so tasteful, private, dainty and trim; Our homes – so tidy, secluded, prosperous, and prim, Our families so cultured, assured – our lives complete. Who lives behind the fronts so clean and tasteful? Who knows their neighbour; the elderly, and frail? Who visits the halt, infirm; their lives avail? What heartache lies behind the fronts so graceful? Of this, I do not know, I cannot tell But what I know, so much is left unsaid; For others who fear their times to come with dread, Without their friends, can they their fears dispel? The pond so languid and peaceful, circled by trees, On the bank, in the sun, the ducks now sleep; So peaceful, idyllic the scene – so why then weep? So tranquil and calm, but should we feel at ease? NB: My village was the inspiration for this poem, but its content does not imply that little or no good neighbourliness occurs in the village - quite the reverse - but.....! Perhaps this is Middle England - anywhere??
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