I think this is fairly self-explanatory. Written the day after the family left Oxfordshire for Ireland. A dark time recalled with bewilderment and grief. Stuff happens. We are good now.

The Toys They Left Behind

The removal vans came in the night

So as to catch the boat back at first light

And your family swept up all the crates,

All the furniture and all my mates.

Now teak table-legs have left their trace

On boot-scuffed carpets in this vacant space,

I walk these echoing rooms half out of my mind

Picking up the toys they left behind.