by Judy Corcoran

Created on: November 10, 2010

Drifting nostalgia from freshly turned soil,

raw sweet aroma of virgin breath born

incites my heart to manifest a memory

of a lifetime ago before it was torn.

So I close my eyes and around me space billows.

A curtain opens, a stage is revealed.

The light of my past calls softly to me

and I return to a scene that count has concealed.

Shadows shimmer in rippling deep eddies.

Melodious tones of times now long gone.

Fresh paint, new carpet, pristine polished timber.

The feel and the comfort of my very first home.

There in my tower of dreams now broken

in the dulcet frangipani of mind,

echo sounds of youth and untarnished laughter

and shades drift past on conceptions sublime.

Spry, vibrant, alive, strong and flexible,

the oyster spread prior to tears.

With the taste of innocence before great learning

I smell essences of my prefatory years.

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