Images in fields
Rain-lashed, wind-driven, storm-torn the croft still stands
Memories of an untamed youth cling to the aging mind
Walking with a sweetheart across drifting sands
So much I remember, fond reminiscence of a letter unsigned
Sun’s rays stream like beams beneath the barren boughs of beech
Across muddied ditches and fields of dainty daffodils
Her beauty always seeming to float beyond my reach
My mind mesmerized, captured in dreams of thrills
Her white cotton dress floating like a snowflake over cornflowers
Like blue polka dots inviting and drawing me near
No longer imprisoned in her father’s ivory towers
I cry out with her name but I know she can’t hear
Has the stream of consciousness at this moment run dry?
Wait! Her pretty form dances among poppies in the field
Love gave me such a moment beneath a cloudless sky
Passions from a summer where our future was not sealed
I wonder, will my thoughts slowly turn to cosmic dust
Do I believe the dream, or is the dream to be my belief
If this is trickery of the mind, then why so unjust?
And if all would end, could that really bring relief?
David Hopcroft January 2012