for times gone by
When I was small,
I used to sit on the sofa,
And look out to the garden.
It seemed the whole world.
Impossible to get bored, it was,
So full of life and colour.
Each day, each season,
Something new.
When the daffodils weren’t dancing,
The apples were ripe.
And if not the apples,
Then the holly and snowberries.
One day, the garden,
It greeted a sweet visitor.
A blackbird. I saw it and
Watched it with marvel.
I gave him a name, though I won’t say.
It was my secret you see?
He kept visiting,
This blackbird.
Once, I drew him with my pencils,
Trying to capture,
His beautiful feathers,
The way the light played the scene.
Time moved on quickly
And life only got busier.
Hardly had time to sit and
Look at the garden.
For some time, I’d look for him each day,
Slowly dwindled to a few.
There must have been,
A last look.
Time alone passed, and I visited
My parents at home.
One day, I thought of him,
And looked out. But he was not there.
The blackbird does not come anymore.
