In Christ Church Meadow

In Christ Church meadow - walked I there, on late spring day, quite clear and fair, walking slower than most dare, for May is under Mary's care. Sometimes, in arrogance, I claim, that man needs but himself - the same thought could not be falser here as I behold it all so clear. Birdcalls in the aging trees, fresh flowers for the buzzing bees, the sway of grass in gentlest breeze, the ducks and geese go as they please. There Oxford's spires break the sky - I marvel at my thoughts - for I had once held art in sole esteem, our minds the well and truth the stream. So obvious that all we do, is drawn from what we see anew - as life begins with each soft spring, beauteous soil for mind's flowering. And while I sit on twisted wood, thinking back to when I stood, I dream of all the minds who dreamt, fed by the brook's soft temperment, and as I walk, I long to see the ghosts of those who walk with me. 20 May 2019