The dry tundra calls to you
Whispering a phrase
A memory that flows
In between and through
The forest needle and pine
Something lies beyond
Far past the snow and sterile ice
Over the great mountains
The places of our birth
Nothing more than an inclination
That all we hope there to be
Has not yet been made know
That the secret hidden for ages
Has in turn hidden us within it
Preserving us in a way unseen
That when the time does come
In far flung ages hence
All things might be revealed
And the barren wastes
Turn to fruitful gardens

Garden aromas
Indescribable
Yet taken for granted
Amongst a spiritual haven
Of sacred trees
Resplendently coloured flowers
And glorious grass.

Aromas of blossoms and dew,
Cut savannahs
Rain and drought
Foxes and cats.
Doggy Paradise
Where they can sniff
And scuffle,
Dreaming of truffle.

A Summer retreat
You cannot beat,
Better for a pond
To strengthen that bond.
Just sit or stroll
And soak it all in.
There is plenty of time.
You can only win.

Paul Butters

© PB 25\5\2021.