by Samuel Skuse

I remember.
Under the dwindling light of that fading day
I watched my mother, from the window 
of the room I shouldn’t be in.
No one stops me now.

She loved her garden.

Nestled in Eden, the nurse of nature nourished.
My heart would fill to a millpond
to see her gentle hands with such willing care
bring life to the roaring colours
and blossoming beauty.

The memory lingers, yet seems resigned to leave,
like a tiring train pulling sleepily away. 
Though I chase it as far as the platform allows,
it disappears regardless.

But she remains, still
her soul echoes in these walls,
her laughter dances through the years,
quiet as a choir,
Her sermon sung.

The Poor Print

The Poor Print is Oriel College's student newspaper, with contributions from across the JCR, MCR, SCR, and staff. Our current Executive Editors are Siddiq Islam and Jerric Chong.

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