The Gold Remains

www.gloucestershirewildlifetrust.co.uk

Bare feet on the new spring grass

Mingle with the daffodils;

Laughing voices, fresh and young,

Echo on the sunlit hills.

For they are youth, and they are spring,

These gold things tossing in the breeze:

A merry flash, a sudden glimpse,

That young hands eager reach to seize.

She cranes her head to try to see

More than there is from where she stands:

The scene is hers, and rightly so—

She grew them all with loving hands.

The laundry waits for half an hour;

This fruit is hers to hold:

One second of eternity

To have her fill of gold.

But then the morning fades away;

She turns her face and sighs;

The spring is gone, the children grown,

The flower fades and dies.

For all her love and all her care,

The winter comes again:

And old, old Time she cannot slow,

Nor keep things as they’ve been.

The years pass on, and many springs

See an empty field of grass;

The house is gone: the hearth, the frame,

And shadow footsteps pass.

For they are gone which once had lived,

And naught of them remains;

Forgotten are her mother-joys,

Her mother-cares and pains.

But bare feet on the new spring grass

Mingle with the daffodils;

And laughing voices fill the air

And echo on the ancient hills:

For they are youth, and they are spring,

These gold things tossing on the breeze:

A merry flash of distant hours

That young hands eager reach to seize.

photo by Tony Hisgett, 2009. wikimedia.org