In silent whispers
I hear echoes from a distant lane And in my mind I'm a child again. For on the breeze of voices is a place I once knew In a village of my youth where I grew. I hear children playing with spirit of sound As I see the walls of the old school ground. Joyous is their shout When after the learning they happily run about. I see homes where Mother's wait With old fashioned warmth I still can relate. Inside coal fires burned with a warm glow And through the door a welcome; hello! Smells of fresh washing from a busy day While the scent of cleaning in all its array. Natural baking filled the air As nothing like it could compare. While neighbors chatted to each other And watched out for one another. Friendships were made with ties to last And on the winds of time the echoes are from my English past.© Jill Windsor 2005