The Mind's of Time

Our gardener's name
was Gray
about the time
World War Two began

Aged seven
I hardly noticed
the crouching man
with the leather wrist band.

Middle-aged
and slow of movement
he continued weeding
not looking up.

He never said a word
which didn't bother me
and since I was shy
we failed to communicate.

When the time came
for afternoon tea
my mother cried 'Gray'
from the kitchen door.

I can see him now
beside the verge
introspective and silent
and wonder who he really was.