Bliss was it on that Way to be alive
But to be old was very heaven.
The troublous times of life have slithered past,
The hectic turmoil, diary-driven hours
Have slipped away into the memory,
Not with resentment, yearning nor regret
But reminisced with dignity and pride,
Delight in life’s achievements and with joy.
But that was then and this is gentle now.
And here is time to wander off the track,
To slumber in the heather, watch the clouds’
Fantastic shapes; gather black-juiced berries,
Identify wild flowers and search the moors
For windchats, warblers, kestrels, linnets, snipe.
No competition to exceed the miles,
No pressure to outdo the ETA,
Just time to dawdle, comment and explore,
Just time for ice-cream cones and Devon teas.
And here is time to read again at ease
The once remembered verse of Xanadu,
The Ancient Mariner and Christabel.
Not studied for an essay or exam
But browsed again as fancy pleases
Above Ash Farm, within the pub, stretched out
Beside the river or the reminiscent fields.
To walk the way of those who weave with words
And fall in love with poetry again.