Recollections
Bring me
the wild flowers that bloomed in my childhood
the daisy and the dandelion :
bring me the thrush and sparrow that sang
the songs of my infancy
Bring me
the fallow fields in which sombre
cattle grazed and where between
cow pats rank with steam we gathered
mushrooms and so breakfasted away
our Sundays
along with eggs and bacon and the juice
of summer ripe tomatoes Bring me those
careless dreams which drifted in on subtle rays
of sunshine— the smell of woodbine and
crushed grass
Bring me those days which turned so soon
to night, those nights which turned
so soon to years— those years that are
the very dust of all our memories
John Lyons