A Little Hamlet Called Butter Worth
Walk along a steep cliff top over glades over Yew trees and brambles to Butter-Worth Head,
Walk through a wood and stand by a warm bank of the clearest spring a mezereon will blossom,
The old tacamahac shows off his long pale green catkins and a China rose gently unfolds,
Green plants bursting the mold with wild flowers will nod to us just as do old friends.
Walking over a Colts foot and a cardamine into a moist meadow a star of Bethlehem gleams,
Many of the wild flowers sway in a soft breeze not understanding how beautiful they are,
My old Friend the daisy waves from far below us they are small but nobody would miss them,
Over another meadow the crocus spreads like a flood of purple the greenest of grass nods.
Violets peek out of hedges many banks and have done through many many of a child's memories,
Remembering the shrieks of children's delight when they are seen for the very first time,
A flash of many years rush through my mind and back to long warm days and long good friends,
Some spots we have seen in our long gone times have delighted us and those who are long gone.
A million greetings to spring her pale arms full of flowers the flowers seen on spring days,
She has also the flower of our youth and although we are children deep down gone are those days,
Gone are the first gathered violets to say good by to the dear little souls who are in heaven,
The bees buzz around these violets and rabbits hop around forgetting fears across the fields.
Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2012
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