Michael Edwards




Alone he stands in reverie,

no sloughing wind disturbs his thoughts.

His fertile mind a dormant bed

wherein its deepest cellars lie

the recollections of his past.


And yonder by a thorn hedge gap

the aged elm its roots now spread,

like giant hands on mats of moss

where once he played his childhood games

recalled as memories pages turn.


Descried in easeful harmony

from this sequestered sylvan spot,

the winking lights beyond the trees

where luminous mists of smoke emerge,

describing where the village lies.


Within its welcoming embrace

on lichen coated ashlar walls

up high the mullioned windows where

on nights like this once flowed

his mother’s gentle soothing vowels.


A step away a key stoned door

and set beneath a sconce therein

where first he saw her aspect there

in cloak and bonnet, scarf and gloves,

before a mirror framed in gold.


Still he can see her shadow there,

a silhouette of her fair form

reminding him of feelings past.

A childhood dream now lost in time

by cast of die of destiny.


Michael Edwards (c) October 2015 


  • Fay Slimm.

    The slow pace of line makes such a peaceful flow to this read Michael - - poignancy mixes with country stillness as the past creeps from each stanza. A fine duo of beautiful picture and poem.

    • Michael Edwards

      Thanks Fay - your kind words are so much appreciated.


      Thanks MICHAEL for a perfect poem and a perfect picture. You pen & brush are in perfect harmony ~ delightful ! BRIAN

    • WriteBeLight

      Lovely way with these words Michael.

      • Michael Edwards

        Thanks WBL - for me poetry is all about stretching words and symmetry - hope I've achieved these here.

      • Tony36

        Well written and expressed

      • Christina8

        A wonderful poem. Very descriptive. Goes lovely with picture!

        • Michael Edwards

          Thanks Christina - so pleased you liked it.

        • MendedFences27

          I have to agree with Fay a bit, I love the flow of your words in this one. As she said, the pace seems just perfect for the portrayal of his reverie. It gives the reader time to ponder each image and to reflect. Loved it. - Phil A.

        • Augustus

          Beautifully written.

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