When I am away
to the beech wood
on the hill.
That bright door
through which the deer slips
marks my birth.
My young years
are the shooting green hawthorn,
and the beeches – those steepling beeches
so handsome and tall and sheltering
are my middle and my age.
Follow the crooked path
inside and fold me
into its holly heart.
Measure me for bird song,
the craw and water ring
are my joy.
Light on the outward faces of the trees,
breezes on the summer leaves
but you will find the centre still
full of content,
a centre deep in family shade.
Remember how happy you have made me
how fitted I am into nature,
how easy this is.
When the weather is cold and
you can see the trees grim muscle
hunched against the weight of things
remember how sad I can be
and pause there on the path,
because this is where knowledge is.
And my end?
There is always an end.
Well it will be
where the path fades into gold.
2 thoughts on “For Felix (and his parents)”
Fabulous thank you Alex. Always good to hear from you and words like these only add to the pleasure.
Ahoy & salaams and hope Hickman Clan in finest form.
lovely poem Alex.