On leaving a group walk to look at the building that was our first home.

Bonny Street

Why am I finding it so hard to write

About the minutes that we spent last week

Rushing hand-in-hand  to Bonny Street?

Sneaking away, like lovers in the night,

From friends upon the Regents Park Canal,

Time fell away and, teenagers again,

We stood before our house - but here my pen

Dried up, for what I can recall

Wells up and overflows into a joy

Refusing to consign itself to verse

With sentimental notions or what's worse

A doggerel sonnet which will simply cloy;

            How could a final couplet be enough

            To sum up forty years of being us?

Brian Hick April 2009

©copyright Sally Hick April 2022