When I was very young, I wrote a lot of poetry. I was full of teenage angst and totally unaware of quite how much of a stereotype I was! The adults in my life indulged me, and I flattered myself into thinking it was much more dark and twisty than it really was,
I hadn’t even attempted anything resembling a poem in decades. Until today, when on my walk at lunchtime. Half remember romantic verses of Keats and Wordsworth coursed through my mind, and I felt overcome with the urge to pen a few rusty lines.
So here it is. As always, I trust you to be gentle xxx
Daffodils! Heralding the arrival of Spring,
Blowing their bright yellow trumpets,
Tossed in the wind.
Brave, golden soldiers, stoic and unfazed
Unafraid of being Summer’s scouts
As I pass, I wonder about other poets have who been stirred
Awakened by these would be muses,
Steadfastly lining the hedge rows and motorways.
My heart is no different than those poets’ hearts,
Other than it is mine, and full to bursting.
Captured and unfolding as I behold their common beauty.
Unable to resist the urge to turn my face to the sky,
Allowing the wind to batter my cheek,
Until I have a bloom worthy to reflect theirs.
How lovely and joyous it is to walk among them.
As I ended my drab walk along a busy road,
A walk taken many time before, I felt rare and blessed.
Nature had shone upon me,
Restored and revived me,
Until, less wretched, I shone back.