Burn Hall Poem by DM W

The river no longer echoes,
With the voices & laughter,
Of nymphs and a thousand
Other nameless creatures.
Its crystal blue waters:
Once the symbol of a
Keener sense of beauty,
Now seems rather prosaic.
The trees have shaken off
Their ancient, teasing ghosts.
As I have now; weathered
By the cold winds of Time.
I have long abandoned
My deep, childhood dreaming

Yet our eyes avert themselves
From the ordinary.
And I still can recall
Drowsy summer days here;
Where the scent of Nature's
Sweet perfume drifted,
And then lingered in the air,
For a jeweled eternity;
When time was measured in moments
Not in days and months and years.
Thus Time has no hold here.
...And still I can recall
Searching amidst dark woods,
Brimming with mysteries,
Alongside my cousin,
For dock leaves to ease,
The nagging sting of nettles.
All we could hear, moving deeper
Into the heart of stillness
Was the sound of our footsteps.
We explored ever green dominions,
That whispered their secrets into our ears;
While the river's heady scent
Burned in our nostrils.

Alas Time is a cruel thief!
It robs us of our former glories.
But as its steady clock has ticked by
My soul has grown deep like the river.
The blood that flows in my ageing body
Predicts the dark days of flood.
Yet now I feel that I can face
The flashing madness of
The interminable present;
Reconciled with these memories.