Recollections.
Summers of larks bred sun-torn
yearly pleasure all round my colourful home
and scented dialect of childhood
still sings recollections of well-trodden roaming.
In home\'s steep haven of meadows
sheaves leaned roasting amid searing hot fields
as hosts of moss roses fed nectar
to playtime that still ghosts my wistful dreaming.
Autumn-red juiced my girlhood
and it etched its vermilion into each adventure
yet where could young fervour
find innocent entrance again into real treasure?
Summers ago beautiful wealth
enriched and adorned my cherished memories.