Bluebell Wood

A blade of grass
between his teeth
the summer sun smiling,
he skips down the lane.
Alone with friends
no one else can see.
No plan
but the immediate sensation.
No strategy,
or long thought complication.
His little feet
Light,
leaving farm and field,
to the woods ahead.
And all is living
and living is all
in his sweet little heart,
his whirling head.
Through the tumbled gate
into the trees.
Big smile,
grazed knees.
There is a Tarzan swing
and everything.
But first,
he lays his little self down
among the bluebells,
upon the fern and earth.
And drinks the moment
smiling.
He is seven
and in the never ending now.
His heart knows
what his lips cannot yet tell...
That he will remember.
He was right,it's true,
because as I write,
I do.
I can't help it
the words make it real
and I wake at last
and feel
my past's future
my future's past.
I smile at the boy
long neglected,
the freckles,
the birdsong,
the bluebells,
and the limitless wood.
I cry for the truth,
I remember the good.
He is seven
and in the never ending now.
He is so so happy
and he laughs
among the bluebells
because he is brave.
And because
he knows
It has to end.