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Tuesday, 5 August 2014

THE MEADOW


Tread carefully in the meadow lest you step on my memories.
Memories of a five-year old boy gathering wildflowers for his teacher.
Making a posy of bright, yellow shining buttercups,
Sweet red clover and pink-tipped daisies, purple vetch and cow parsley.
See the teacher graciously receiving the bouquet.
She puts them on the window-sill in a crystal vase.

Now the boy with his twin sister is on his way home.
He boards the bus clutching  the penny fare in his little hand.
They mount the steps to the top of the double -decker bus.
From there they can look down to the stream by the mill
And the tops of the trees as they pass through the wood.
Walking from the bus stop,  there is time to gather flowers for mother.

After tea, the little boy makes his way to the stream with his big sister.
He carries in each hand a jam jar with a string handle.
Excitedly he dips each jar into the stream and waits patiently.
Meanwhile it is growing dark and the midges are beginning to bite.
From across the stream mother's voice is heard calling them in.
Time to return home across the bridge with his precious catch of tadpoles.


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