If our grandparents left their house, 
we'd miss the Autumn evening drive
to there after school on Fridays,
down the road where people rarely
discover their way to the village with
thirty-five locals, still quite hidden & remote.

We'd miss the night's clouds on
silent stained glass of the village
Church as it greets us just before 
the flare of trees & village green
is still distinguished in the dusk.

We'd miss their driveway of welcomes
that waits for a rainbow of our chalk 
art & hopscotch game during the next day. We'd miss 
the welcome home to us after every
excursion in summer.

Indoors, we'd miss the space on carpets for
rehearsing gymnastic sequences as our 
grandparents converse 
nearby with comedy shows on TV.
We'd miss the keyboard we want
to learn to play.  

We'd miss the musical of the bell
on the neighbour's open gate, the reading
to their younger children in our free time. 
We'd miss the signs that show the 
names of homes, like Violet or Christmas
Cottage. We'd miss our toys, hedgehogs
& twisty snakes on the windowsill.