You know, it's strange how much our sense of smell
Associates itself with past events.
The slightest whiff is all we need to dwell
A hundred miles away or decades hence.
The smell of new-mown hay or baking bread
Now brings to mind my happy Hampshire roots
And heady scent of hyacinth has led
Me to a cottage in a wood where owls hoot.
The rich aroma of an open fire
With blackened teacakes on a toasting fork,
Transporting tired spirits even higher
Through fragrant bluebell woods on family walks.
So many memories, frozen in time
Until that unique scent will make them chime.
William Messent's Other Poems
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Fragrant Memories by William Messent )
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