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.
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