Hawthorn Dene Poem by Paul Reed

The April afternoon
Dared us to enter this secret place
Closing the lids of sad eyes
To capture memories in our floodlit minds;

Where a quiet symphony praising spring
Whispered soft caresses as it took us in it's arms,

Where the wild garlic,
Arranged like a green-woven tapestry
Of perfect rows from nature's loom
Clothed the slopes from naked display;

This world of brooks and streams
That held the sunlight's sparkle
Gurgling and dancing down steep ravines,
Where cares ceased to be.