Sulehay woods Northamptonshire

 
This not my wood  
who's I do not know    
wood anemones white  
speckle the dells  
paths wander ancient ways  
quarries healing in the rain  
the clay and iron won  
now minature landscapes,  
alpine scenes and pools.  
The old rail track  
its wooden sleepers  
dreaming in the grass  
laughing children echo  
from a distant past;  
sweating men and smoke.  
Time stands still  
scales fall from willows  
nostalgia reigns, hear again  
spinning tops and hopscotch  
in canon with the bird song  
wild violets and primrose.  
Jack gone on ahead  
searching smells as always  
leaves me to remember  
the limestone cottage,  
diamond windows, down the road,  
ancient apples and lofty pears  
nights black and eerie, foxes  
owls and what goes bump at night;  
but the doors were locked  
children sleep with Teddy  
and the cat was in.  
There was no dog in those days  
and we were four.  
Mothers' Day last Sunday  
all were there save three  
eleven round the table  
calls from the absent three.  
. . . . . . . . . . . . .  
Jack is back and time to go  
taking comfort from the lead;  
I did not pick the violets  
but took away the peace  
that once we had behind  
those limestone walls  
down the road,three miles  
and fifty years.