A Wilderness Poem by Gillian.E. Shaw

There was a wildness to the man
whose hand hammered at the door;
an old familiar order, a command
recognition on demand:
Slid back the latch
while there on the mat
stood the patriach
far... far from home.

Lived peacefully in foreign parts
beyond the pail at last!
On setting out had skipped along the path where
daisies line the route and buttercups may bloom
and yet... there was a day; perhaps an hour
once, of heaven shared:
A country walk, a glade,
savored each mouthful of golden lemonade...

Bewildered, by brutal education
and bleak outlook; a measure of fear, doubt
and harsh neglect
in equal parts
which was preferable - be assured
moreover, on reflection
and in preparation
threw light across the years.

Resentment harnessed, hid and checked
gave way to a regular warm smile of welcome.
Strangely, responsive to that withered soul
in search of rest and comfort;
expectation - to provide.
Then hopefully, making tea
as usual, resistant to the wilderness
and always and savagely returned there.