Fable: Stepping On Daisies Poem by Sally Evans

Stepping on daisies she watched swallows.
The river flowed.
Her sandy path led through ramsons, garlic,
Buttercups and willow,
past horses, necks stretched over hawthorn,
Across a swaying bridge
To the other side of the strong water,
And the old village.

The village frightened her. A resident
She never seemed,
Bur had tenuous connections with inhabitants
Of houses in the green.
A long-skirted woman, geese and dogs
And cartwheels round the door,
Smiled, nodded, observed, 'This visitor
I have seen before.'

Wetness of sycamore leaves, a warmth of summer,
Whisper of bee,
The opening if all things, petal, heart,
Eggshell, pupa,
Could not quite uncurl their tongues for her.
Until they spoke
She was a ghost inspiring summer, breathing air
That made her choke.

They did speak. Stepping on many daisies
She watched swallows.
Summer had come, the path through garlic reached
The path she knows.
Her unreal steps led to the swaying bridge
Pulled down last year.
On what became of the summer visitor
The villagers fear?