Fifty years ago the garden of what is now
our house was five times its present size –
a garden that had been a field, and a heath.
A builder turned an orchard, borders
and most of a lawn into three modern
terraced houses and eight lock-up garages.
Part of what remained of the lawn was a dump.
Occasionally odd things still turn up –
like bits clinker, rusted iron, and, today,
a small piece of coal, of anthracite,