If only Autumn Days , were this good , all again
as golden mellow paintings, visual hearts, all explained
as a child walked slate paths, covered in splatters of rain
where he picked purple berries, from muddy , puddled lanes
and his cheeks were as red , as fallen Apples, all new
stuffed in his pockets, his found treasures, a few
he saw the Cottage spiral smoke, for mothers baking bread
smelt wood shavings sweet, from fathers, work shed
for this , is Country Childs World, of 1842
and the 4 year olds wishes, on Dandilion seeds, that he blew
now his mud covered trousers , from ginger cat, who's alone
to the lace covered windows, to the safety
to the safety,
called home
It was a cold winter day on the Fundy Bay when the wind and the Ocean Raged
You were a child with the sweetest smile who walked through a storm for a mile
Over the frozen sand as I held your hand, we made our way to the land
Up over the banks past the shipyard tanks and a pile of old wooden planks
Homeward bound as the snow fell down and wood shavings blew all around
I held your hand like a grown man the way that your Mother planned
Keeping you warm from the day I was born together we weathered the storm
I was made by a hand, with wool from a lamb, with love knitted in every strand
As soft as a kitten and Oh! So smitten, I...Just one of pair of mittens.
April 12, 2018
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
pile after pile of organic
earth l left
alone waiting and
watching for wildness
to grow, nearby
oh plenty of phosphorus
and untreated wood shavings
layer after layer
for the sun and what ever
water would be fallen
from the uncertain sky
And I called it my garden
waiting and watching
the uncertain naturalist
So if it looked like a weed
I pulled it out
If it looked like a flower
I left it alone
And it wasn't even in
my own yard
Because I like
to harvest the weed
I do.
Peace!
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