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Forgotten Field of Forever
Forgotten field of forever
I knew you once . . .
in daffodil days
when I wandered in wisteria ways.
Sprightly I skipped and rarely tripped.
Hope really did spring eternal then
in the spring of my strawberry youth.
Dahlia daydreams drifted often
like dandelion fluff
through the corridors of my mind -
a mind not yet tainted by
taxing times inevitably to come
as faster and faster
I would speed along my path of life.
Like a gamboling lamb,
fresh, frisky and free-spirited,
I faced my own little
fun and frivolous world.
Hardly was I heedful of
the woes of those
forced to fight in foreign fields
across the ocean,
in a nation where peace
was hardly known.
In killing fields
were the most innocent of citizens
pawns of a futile war.
Such things did not enter
my pre-teen mind.
I was but a child.
Sachet sweet were my springs
and sassy sassafras my summers.
In back-to-school autumnal afternoons
I fled home to fields of happy play,
never with a thought given to
the heartache of mothers
whose soldier sons were lost to
bullets or bombs.
I sleepwalked cluelessly through
a decade of war far removed from me
as I played games of pretend
with equally clueless friends
Blissfully we skipped our ropes
and chattered merrily like monkeys
in the school yard.
So innocent was I then
that barely can I bring back
those sun-filled daffodil days
to my recollection.
In too short time,
my grand little dreams of long ago
wafted upward to a cumulus of forgetfulness.
No more do I lay myself down in grass
to look up at diamond-studded skies
or drift into slumber
with visions of the visages
of my juvenile crushes
while cheesy 60’s love songs
linger softly on my radio.
Those faraway times are
as forgotten as the lives
that vanished in Nam.
They can only belong to
the forgotten field of forever.
Copyright ©
Andrea Dietrich
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