Some of the happiest days of my childhood were spent strolling through the fields and forests near my home. Today, many of those beautiful retreats are gone, paved over and lost beneath the ever-encroaching shadow of urban settlement, but I see them still in my mind’s eye, and there is no doubt that part of my essence lingers on in those green and pleasant lands of my youth.
A CALL FROM MY PAST
Back to the countryside’s
Still morning air,
Where grass softly sways, for
My heart remains there.
Small singing birds perching
On leaf-covered trees,
The sun shining down on
Small yellow-striped bees
That gather sweet nectar
From every wild flower.
Magnificent Nature,
For this is her hour.
The field-mice in cornfields,
The swans on the lakes –
All Nature’s perfections,
Not man-made mistakes.
And as I gaze fondly
On all that I see,
A child’s voice sounds softly,
It’s calling to me –
The voice of my childhood,
The laugh of a child
Who listened, and followed,
The call of the wild.
