Poem; Memories.

Over the hill and far away
Is a place I knew well,
With a pool inside a dell.
The water flowed round
An island, where silence
Reigned. In springtime
It was covered in blue,
Where bluebells in their
Hundreds grew.
Joyce and I would follow
The path, down to this
Special spot, sun shining
Down hot, and there we
Would tread on the old
Board, to pick a hoard
Of bluebells. Joyce always
Said we were on treasure
Island, and we had come
To steal the gold,  we
Pretended we had swords
And were bold pirates!
We picked bunches of
Flowers, and spent hours
Before we went home.
Sad to say, the bluebells
Wilted on the way, and mum
Would say, "Throw those
Bluebells away, they are dead."
Over the hills and far away,
Was once a place we used to play,
And in my memory it has stayed,
Never ever far away.

Augustine Nash.