My Gran. Growing up, in the summer the place you’d find me Was at Onny Lodge in Plowden, no better place to be. The house and the garden all packed full of flowers. We’d be weeding and pruning for what seemed like hours. A fry up for breakfast with lashings of tea, Then she’d play in the fields with the pony and me. We’d make a den out of old sticks and straw, With a sheep’s skull, (washed clean), hanging over the door. My Gran could climb trees with no effort at all, Which is no easy task when you’re really quite small. There’s nothing quite like having hay in your wellies Or the taste of Gran’s chutney or her lovely milk jellies. The fun on the farm that I had with my Gran Will be passed down to my children the best that I can. So Gran, I will miss you but you’ll always be there Wearing little red shoes and a scarf in your hair.