Between the lilac bush and tree
We built a cottage made of stone
Where wild grape hyacinth runs free
And ivy climbs the walls of home
Its window-boxes spill with blooms
Its walls harbor a hundred nooks
And braided mats warm wooden rooms
That sail the world in story-books
The tea kettle sings tiralee
The scones, are butter-warm, oh my
And it is always half-past tea
Where the clock is a big, blue sky
Between the lilac bush and tree
The best of Times accumulate
To build a cottage, snug and wee
Where Mary Poppins and friends wait
...and after dark, when all is still
And moonlit bathed and filled with sprites
We'll sit upon the silver hill
and watch heaven turn on its lights
...and after dark, when all is still
And moonlit bathed and filled with sprites
We'll sit upon the silver hill
and watch heaven turn on its lights
© Janet Martin
I often notice a solitary lilac bush or several apple trees in an overgrown field and know that one time there was a home on that spot. A sad reminder of what once was. I hope your dream of a cottage on that spot comes true.
ReplyDeleteyes, me too and then I wonder who planted it and when:) so many stories that die with the times...I hope this dream comes true too;-)), although, in a sense it already has!
DeleteWell, you've already made the dream come true for me with your lovely poem. I want to live in a cottage where it is always half past tea. Big Smile.
ReplyDelete