When I was a young, I used to read a lot of poetry, stories, and nursery rhymes, as children do. A lot of those happened to be English, though I then had no concept of England. I often imagined that the beautiful land described was some magical, enchanted place of old. (Indeed, I wasn’t far wrong). I used to think, if only I could transport myself there … perhaps in my untroubled dreams. Little did I conceive of the ancient and timeless beauty of this great land, and particularly the Lake District, or that one day when I was very old (to that child’s mind) I would find myself here.
Thus the inspiration behind my little poem …
~
June in the Lakes
The land of Wordsworth’s Daffodils
enchant the landlocked child within
once a girlish dream of time
and worlds unknown
much to her chagrin
A poem read, a gentle sigh, then bed
she never knew what lay ahead
Some forty years, the nightly nod
before delight, her feet did trod
And now in wonder and in awe
her eyes, her soul, did dare to draw
The rains have paused, the sunbathed lakes,
her heart’s desire
the mountains catch the evening light as if by fire
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