Читать книгу Collected Folk Tales - Alan Garner, Alan Garner - Страница 14
Оглавление
Maggoty’s Wood is old.
Nothing grows.
Nobody knows.
Nothing goes.
Grandfathers wouldn’t dare
At midnight. Fathers told
Of giggling; children scared
Silent to the centre, whooping out,
Could do it once, learning rain
And leaves, badgers, and to walk
Lanes after.
Maggoty’s Wood is old,
And when the lanes are sold
And the houses ponder through,
It becomes an Unspoilt View.
Where grandfathers wouldn’t,
And where fathers told,
And children could do once,
Is Woodend Close.
And nothing grows.
Beneath the playpen and
Beneath the bed,
Beneath the arrogant garden,
Nothing goes.
Nobody knows.
Alan Garner
