Our Town

Our town was small
and safe
and cried when it fell
sometimes.
Filled with good tomorrows
licked by sunsets
enormous red
that filled my village head
with tenderness.

Our town was an old man
who gave me a coin
and never had to leave
to find the answers,
and a big brown relic
who watched me
over its oat bag
as I grew.

Our town bunched together
nodding knowingly
when word from the outside
filtered through
and the baker added
an extra bun, winking,
but the ancient who
cut the churchyard grass
never smiled again.