Beech Walk
Tread softly on summers past
Where glorious days return to earth
To lay their pile carpet for our dreams
That twist and turn
Between the sleeping giants
Of our mind.
The snow-shackled spring
Suppressed and frustrated
By winter’s stubborn grip
Gathers up its life force
Squeezing through the stranglehold
Seeping from every open pore.
The black beech, dark and wet
Flex and break their chains
Connected by the green fuse
They ignite in unison
Their neon translucence
Fired by a shafting morning sun.
Freshening the eye
Lightening the heart
Opening the mind for times to come
Until, they too
Must find their place
Earth to earth.
Amongst the mouldering corpses
Of summers’ brethren
That cushion
The tread,
Of our own
Beech Walk.