In autumn she dances

With beech leaves in her hair,

But in winter I have found her still,

Crouching under a blanket of snow.

[Pg 20]

[Pg 20]

 Remembering

(Locheven)

There is a spot in the woods

That is “forever England” to me.

A clump of beech trees

Steeped in silence,

Whose shade and solitude

Shuts me in with my dreams.

The sunshine slants through

Their limpid leaves

And turns them to translucent jade,

Just as it does in an English spring.

Violets are there, and I pluck them,

Remembering the bluebells

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