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

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