Poem: Hear Their Call

While walking through the garden mist,
You pass the Fern-Leaf Corydalis,
The Lily Leek and Scurvy Cress,
High above, a Swallow’s nest.

One can wait to hear their call,
Or see the Common Buzzard fall
To catch a mouse before it’s lost
Beneath the rocks and Fairy Moss.

There is a voice beyond the breeze;
A gentle whisper through the trees.
You follow, ‘til you reach a stream,
Where children fished, their eyes a gleam.

But now the children fish no more.
A small corsage upon the floor.
And standing now where they once stood,
You recall the scenes of childhood.

Splashing water, a trail race,
The smell of pine and fresh caught dace,
A muddy bank and worn out shoes,
The twisted roots of an ancient Yew.

One can wait to hear their call
And watch them lose their grip, then fall.
For ears may hear, but eyes do see
The dangers all prophetically.

by Sylvia Villa (2019)