On
an Elm leaf
Walking
to the shop
I
reached up and touched
a
lonely Elm leaf
and
felt its velvety touch
like
the skin of a doormouse
remind
my hand of the things
it
had been ran over
a
curve a shoulder a nape
an
udder an asp
and
coils of rope and shovels
and
stones in the mud
and
trickles of river
under
the falls
how
it tickled the Elm leaf
who
had felt such things
and
many like them before
anyone
came to touch it
before
there were
concrete
floors
it
had witnessed the bowler
and
umbrella of Victorian
times
lost to us
but
not to the Elm leaf
it
had been here before
there
were houses
in
rows
and
black chimneys
soot
staining their bark
over
time
before
then there were Romans
the
Elm was a sapling then
the
leaf but a spark
in
a seedling's eye
but
it had known wind and marching
it
had known sword and fire
it
had heard these things
from
the elders
of
the Elms
one
of whom I came to know
as
I reached up and touched
on
my way to the shop
a
lonely Elm leaf
continuing
to grow
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