A beautiful, moving post from Diane, that I am most honoured to have inspired…

bardessdmdenton - author- artist

I am long gone
from that small coppice
where one man’s purpose
was all I had.

His saw, his scythe
cut through the clutter
to shed some light where
the ground was soft.

Fires were set
to burn away brash
and warm us at last
on such cold days.

We’d stop for lunch
and speak of nothing
except the birdsong
leaving winter.

He loved my hair
and constant silence
and woman’s promise
to stay for hope.

My hands, my heart
wanted to be his
working with nature’s
way of growing.

Clearing the way
for sunshine and rain
growing love not blame
from what was past.

Bluebells, bluebells
in sight and fragrance
I have come back since
just as he thought

I would.

Without darkness, Nothing comes to birth, As without light, Nothing flowers. May Sarton (American poet, novelist, and memoirist, 1912 – 1995)

I must acknowledge Laurel’s Reflections  as…

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