Hall Roffey

THE GOLD green of the trees curved over the lawn,

And the lights of the world centred in a yellow iris

Flaming upwards from the straight stem.

People passed …

They passed out of the wood into the wood again;

Dark gray like the mould.

A beautiful woman in gray colors came:

Tall, slim, golden lilies on her dress were woven.

The iris joined her, for a moment they walked together.

The iris returned again.

The light of the world was centred in the iris

The woman faded
for ever.

A bent old man arrived, an old distorted man;

His legs short like a tortoise, his body long and baggy;

His face was ugly, the nose knobbed, the lines and wrinkles alive.

He folded a newspaper with work-distorted hands.

He ambled on; drab, worn, and shabby,

Shuffling the dim sands.

The iris joined him, they marched on together.

She will never leave him.

The gold green of the trees curves over the lawn,

And the light of the world centres in a yellow iris:

The old man and the iris march on forever.