My weed garden

Mother gave me a patch of garden.

I ploughed it with a trowel
and seeded it with
dahlias,
geraniums,
marigolds,
and chrysanthemums.

I watered it everyday
and watched with delight
as they began to sprout.

Then one day I saw a new plant,
with tiny bright green leaves.
Mother didn't know what it was.
Se called it a weed.
She told me to remove it.
I didn't. I thought it was pretty.

Prettier still, when it had
tiny, yellow flowers.
And then there were other plants -
short ones,
tall ones,
prickly ones,
with white,
yellow,
even red flowers.
One flower had petals
that were violet outside
and yellow inside.
Mother called them all weeds.

The geraniums
and dahlias
and chrysanthemums
didn't seem to grow well.
They were short
and had small flowers,
not like mother's patch
which had big, pretty ones.
Mother said it was because
I had let weeds grow.

But I had lots of little
flowers - like little me.
Mother said I had grown
a weed garden.
So she took it away.

But it was a nice garden
while it lasted.

School Friends

School Friends

The good thing about school friends is that
you can always make fun of them,
even if you last met thirty years ago.

They may be have got a Padma Vibhushan
for distinguished service in medicine,
with FRCS, FACS after their name,
but to you they are still Snotnose,
Kombda, Gotya and Monkeybrain.

You never forget their birthdays
and their children's names
though you forget your wife's
or your own children's.

You may not attend your cousin's wedding,
but something will make you travel
halfway around the planet,
to attend that of your school friend.

At school reunions you instinctively
head for the same spot in the
school canteen, crack the same jokes,
though the others stare at you.

They'll send you the same cliched
birthday cards (rarely gifts)
but you'll treasure them above all else.

And when you have been forgotten
by your colleagues after retirement,
and your children after they move out,
it is your school friends who will come
to be your pall-bearers.