A Way

A Way I saw a narrow side road unused now but scars from cartwheels are still visible. On both sides' walls have partly fallen down, no longer protecting or guarding anything, obvious except, perhaps, memories; yet the walls, with yellows spring flowers on looked graceful as the easterly softly blew. I followed the road, half an hour or so, till it ended on a field of cardinal poppies and Spanish bluebells. The road, pointless but lucidly romantic, tells of a time gone by, but whether it was a good or hard time it stays quiet, leaves it up to me to make sense of the past and remember it gently.