... there was a long, hot summer during the 50's, when I was friendly with a girl living at the Manor House, (next to St John's, our parish church.). We spent hours playing in the semi-wild garden which runs down to the Hogsmill River; and hugging her pet rabbits.... (poor things.)

...this poem evokes some of those memories ........

 

Out of Bounds

Then

            it is summer again,

            and we lie on our backs

            in the grass, squinting

            at the sun seeping through

            the outstretched arms of the cedar.

            Long warm-hearted days shine –

            the meadow shimmers with heat

            and daisies fleck the long grass.

            We leap down the tumbling field

            to the river; it whispers ideas.

            Here is the crimson rose

            scrambling over the shed; its

            soft scented petals flutter in

            at the door.  Time loiters -

the church clock strikes five.

We know the incense of cedar

breathing over the garden,

the sun slips behind the mulberry;

soon our purple-stained  hands

will give up their secret.

 

©  S.F. Burley