Terry Trainor | + Follow Poet |
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A Warm Summers Day

After many years I paid a rare visit to the woods from my long ago childhood days,
Things have changed since boyhood, the bees are silent, the landscape has changed,
Gone, honey-laden scented flowers of the old sycamore now just crinkled old leaves,
In their place hang dainty two fold keys higher, much higher, than I ever remember.

In these trees my friends would play, climbing high much higher than I would now,
Pulling lower branches swinging legs over to get onto the start of our Everest climb,
Making our way up the trees, a little scared but not sharing my fears with the others.
Standing very near the top can’t go higher the branches too thin to take my weight.

Now the poplar has lost its metallic shimmer; the chestnut's grown with white candles,
But still the wind in the fully leafed branches sound like the sighing of a gentle sea,
The martins' nests are still there, one occupied by a shrill voiced healthy young brood,
With parental cares over the nestlings, flutter unsteadily, across green grassy Valley's.

Standing very near the top of a tree we could see over the rooftops of nearby houses,
The branches fork, we sit, a leg on each side of the bough, slowly moving outwards,
Better be a bit careful as the branch gets thinner, dead wood at the end will snap off,
Sitting here on the top of the world, holding on tight, hoping the wind will be calm.

Heads of golden, and brown, hair blow carelessly in the light warm summer breezes,
Smiles on thin faces crease and dimples appear adding a dimension to sunburned skin,
Summer clothes of cotton, bright red dresses for girls, blue jeans with turn-ups for boys,
Short sleeved shirts opened at the neck some baggy as they wore older brother’s clothes.

I remember robins their ruddy vests and the slim thrush singing with a mature note,
These days were so special, remembered like a picture lovingly painted on a canvas,
There was always fresh beauty amid the glories, people grow up in life like strong trees,
Playing among the marigolds their orange suns and the lilies white like a gentle flame.

Thinking back I see the corncockles blue crown, and the honeysuckle’s horn of fragrance,
I stand where I stood before, a lifetime ago, deep in thought, holding on to my memories,
It was a time taken for granted as children, these times would last forever never change,
loveless home life retreated to the back of my mind, forgotten on a warm summer day.

Copyright © Terry Trainor | Year Posted 2012

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