A Sonnet - Our Bungalow

I liked it when I called you bungalow

Flat roofed three bedrooms ours a childhood home

Outdoor play Mother baking making dough

Surrounding fields around our house to roam

Down dirt tracks seemingly endless afar

Lost in the gentle summer breeze we played

Our golden bungalow sounds so bizarre

Yet each night at bedtime I knelt and prayed

Was summer so happy that long ago

The blinds rattling hard against the windows

With summer ending I began to grow

New seasons stormy weather and rainbows

Now fields have gone, welcoming new abodes

Bulldozers too have our bungalow erode.

Written for Berkhamstead Poet's Society, September 2023