Wheelbarrow

Long ago, we played in father’s barrow.
While he gardened, Bertie and I darted -
Bert in barrow, I the one outsmarted -
Pushing him along our road so narrow.
Not unlike the streamlined silver arrow
Up and down that road my brother carted
Arms weren’t strong; but boys were not fainthearted:
I pushed, Bert perched, cheerful as the sparrow.

Time and youth are never to be trusted -
All it’s left is memories to collect:
Bert and I, destroyed in Europe’s damage.
Ageing now, I cart with barrow rusted
Red from years of use and of neglect.
Earth means life and death. Alone, I manage.