Buttercups
30 September, 2005
Author: Billy Campbell
Clouds gathered overhead as I sat,
like great heads of white bearded old men.
It was a place for contemplation
as I sat in absolute stillness.
We once walked through this Silent Valley.
Forty years ago we climbed and listened
to the liquid slap of water as
it leaned against the dam: spilled silver.
All of our history lies beneath.
With time everything changes, only
memories remain. I looked across
the cold expanse. Drowned below the
rippled surface lie the remains of homes.
In the surrounding small, walled fields
our grandparents toiled. Our parents
ran carefree, picked buttercups and played.
Time turns silver with age. Yesterday
was green and filled with buttercups
to be held under our chins as we laughed.
Before us, the road seemed to curve forever.
Forty years on and I have returned.
Once more I walked through this Silent Valley.
It was the photograph that brought me
back, the photograph and the buttercups.
Now in a room, bathed in lamplight,
I empty my pockets and find
two, slightly crushed, yellow buttercups.
------- Author's Notes -------
I found an old photograph that was taken over one hundred years ago before the dam in the Silent valley was built. The photograph showed a few cottages that now no longer exist, this inspired the poem. |
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Comments on this poem/writing:
| Tammy (66.38.4.124) -- Friday, September 30 2005, 10:20 pm I truly enjoyed reading this poem, awsome write indeed! |
| stacey (69.137.26.123) -- Monday, October 10 2005, 02:35 am what a beautiful piece. thank you. |
| Rick (4.252.255.235) -- Saturday, October 29 2005, 05:02 pm Now in the autumn of my life. There are times when i feel a little melancholy. Wandering through the reminiscing years of my youth. I am glad i was in the right place at the right time to read your lines. Thank you/ |
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