10 SEPTEMBER 1927, Page 11

Town's Edge

Now rooks fly home above our stuccoed street To elms the builders spared. Their black wings beat Untidily, above our tidy shares Of garden ground, above our trim grass squares.

I love their crowded path across the sky—

Their sunset cry.

But stuccoed streets that drove the country back, Must drive my rooks, soon, out along its track— To gardens, older, deeper-grown than these ;

To quieter trees. DOROTHY ROBERTS.