Thursday, 29 March 2012

Flowering Redcurrant

Underneath the silver birch
They’d hang pink with pleasure,
Blushing blossoms
Full and frothing.
Beneath the birch’s lolling leaves
I’d read, or sing or dream.
And look through dappled light
To pale bare skies
Where contrails paint across the blue.
Small fingers fashioning necklaces
From a constellation
Of crimson-tinged daisies,
Dotted on the lawn.
The smell of earth, damp and raw,
Grass stained knees and the tantalising
Whispers of summer on the breeze.
I’d lie beneath those verdant boughs,
Embraced in their beauty.
And even today,
When years have passed,
I smell the flowering redcurrant
And remember.

Angela Barton


  1. Lovely Ange. Go slow and careful xx

  2. Glad to see you still have time for writing, Angela. We miss you at NWC.

  3. That's beautiful, Ange - and lovely photos, of the bush and of you.

  4. Thank you Megan, Keith and Rosemary for coming to visit! Lovely to 'see' you all. xxx

  5. Great to see you are writing Ange - lovely picture and lovely poem