MAUD WATSON, FLORIST

bred in a market arch

a struggle

in a city's armpit

that flower

in your time-rough hands

a beautiful girl in a slum alley

all that kindness in your face

and you're right

the times are not what they were

this England's not what it was

flowers shrink in that crumbling vase

dusk creeps in on a cart

and Maud the sun is choking

Maud this island's sinking

and all that swollen sea is

the silent majority

waving

Keith Armstrong