in loving memory of my Dad, who used to take me walking in Shipley Wood when I was a child
All is now quiet in the calm of the wood,
Save for the constant murmur of bees.
Charged with emotion the cool air lingers,
As voices drift inward on memory's breeze.
Sounds heard in childhood, a lifetime ago,
The clear voice of water, rushing on rocks,
All mingle together with sweet-scented bluebells,
As 'Time' sheds its fetters, and 'Childhood' unlocks.
The perfume grows stronger, the water more clear,
The mind has no power to resist,
And drifts through the woodland in long ago daydreams,
The world with its worries now fades into mist:
But something is missing, away drifts the dream,
The mind now awakens, the senses are keen;
For a voice of endearment, blood unto blood,
Is no longer heard, in the path, through the wood.
by
Shirley Frances Winskill 1999
