I
Remember New Hampshire
New Zealand begins to fill my eye
As days and weeks and months go by.
But, I do not forget the bite of Winter,
Or sun-bright icicles that splinter
And crash to earth on days in Spring,
Or mud that halts my wanderings.
I recall the early whispers of streams,
Released from frost by lengthening beams
Of light that summons sap and leaf;
Maple buds that give bare hills relief.
That dripping, surging forth of growth
And tree-frogs' songs filling nights with hope.
I remember tall white New England homes,
Red barns and a winding road that roams
O'er wooded hills by logging tracks,
Huge woodpiles to be raised in stacks.
Woodpeckers drilling the fresh Spring air;
I know my heart still lingers there.
And yet, outside my door is Autumn's flair,
With reddening leaf and cooling air,
Sharp blue days, nights pricked with stars
And my soul is beckoned by both these paths;
One here in golden Autumn's start
And one with New Hampshire's Spring in my heart.
Robyn Hewetson |
