The old hoard memories, the young dare dream.
Audacious fantasies soar through dazzling skies;
hopes bright as May when hawthorns cream
green walkways. Firebird dreams;
each fabled feather a star-studded prize.

The ancient wise watch with wistful eyes,
recall their buttercup years:
high tea at Gran’s, steam engines, daisy chains,
coal fires, frost flowers on window panes;
and mother’s memories: how she singed waved hair
with fire hot tongs, wore best clothes to church,
recalled her mother’s sepia world of stays and starch.
Girls then scrubbed and scoured, wore home-made
frocks, turned heels in socks, darned and crocheted
a patchwork of memories to warm stiff knees,
make more personal a high-backed chair
in a geriatric place of care –
a young girl’s dream stitched into every square.

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