Only a few top-heavy holly-hocks, wilting in arid beds,
Frayed lawns,
Twin sycamores storing the darkness massively under balconies of leaf,
And an empty rococo bandstand - strangely unpopular
Saturday evening in the public gardens.
But wait: These take their places:-
A thin little woman in black stockings and a straw hat with wax flowers,
Holding a varnished cane with both hands against her spent knees
As she sits alone on the bench, yes oddly
This little introductory line changes the mood. The poet intrudes and the exclamatory address to the reader indicates that there may be life here after all.
The Public Gardens