Wild Flower Meadows
Wild flower meadows are getting rare in Britain. When I was
growing up one of my greatest delights was walking in wild
flower meadows, listening to the insects and birds, smelling
the flowers, running free... I'm going to leave my love of
wild flower meadows to your imagination and offer you a lover's
poem I wrote some years ago, when my eyes still twinkled innocence...
The Seed Sower's Dream
The hay field willow-wept with ripening seed,
And tossed their purple heads, and brushed upon our need,
And feathered fingers dance on puffs of kissing wind,
As hand-locked in togetherness, waist high, we sailed by,
love blind.
Beyond the field lies a pond of mirror-still water,
And all around, as patchwork quilts, lie clustered jewels
of flower,
And the pond’s surface reflect the rich green seam of
reed
And all is woven in colourful confusion, as a bed, in answer
to my plea.
And it was under the laticed-leaved, cobwebbed Yew
That I touched you for the first time; thigh-deep in your
blossoming dew.
And it was amongst the bone-dry limbs of one fallen tree,
As Zeus I melted lip to breast as deeper still my root sowed
seed.
And you, such a pretty face, vented passionate surprise,
And in you, my Venus, I drowned on your tongue and swam in
your eyes,
As swan-arched and carefree, you came with me,
And we hungered on our touch as Eros and the nymphet Psyche.
And as we lay, so quiet, you murmured the words, ‘my
hero.’
And passion conquered once again as Cupid shot his arrow,
And love-locked in nakedness we watched the sunset flame the
sky,
And all you wore was a halo as the harvest moon rose high.
And when I mouthed in simple voice about my dreams and yearning,
The alarm by my bedside heralded the arrival of tomorrow yawning,
And you flew up to the smiling moon and vanished from my eye,
For this seed sower’s dream had ended. Too soon to say
goodbye.
