Annex

An annex of brick leans against the old manor,
Its quiet façade a modest appendage,
Where whispered plans are drawn in ink and paper,
And futures are stitched into the stone’s grey seams.

Here the town’s fringe finds a modest programme,
A modest extra room for labour and hope.
The annex stands, unassuming yet steadfast,
A British annexe, a subtle promise kept.