September 25, 2017


Never made it to SPRING GARDENS (but that's another story) as intended [see #treestory (1)]. Yes, I got lost... - my GPS- free stream of consciousness led me to QUEEN'S PARK* by Eddie Quayle:


The tall silent trees have been standing here so long

Their very grace + beauty, the reason for a song

A subject for the artist in paintings of the past

A subject for the man will not conform their beauty will not last


Bereft of summer glory when winter grips the land

Like extended fingers on some giant boney hand

Of pilgrims reaching upwards as they kneel before the shrine

Hoping + praying will the miracle be mine


A small depression in the ground all that now remains

Of a pool where once I paddled didn't matter if it rained

The valley + a slimy pond where once we caught our frogs

Sounds of splashing water + the barking of our dogs


Grand museum! Tennis courts! Flower beds so fine

The fountain where we drank, the water was our wine

Cowboys + indians, hide + seek we played

Butterflies we couldn't catch but never got dismayed


Queen's Park was often full of these summers long ago

Mothers with their children where else were they to fo

Young men & women, boys & girls to see who they could meet

Old men around the bowling green unsteady on their feet


From the mist across the park a silhouette I see

Ghostly figures all around just like it used to be

Of ornamental iron made it used to look so grand

Painted then in red + gold where we listened to the band


Gazing out across the park silent now + still

A pair of mighty cannon no longer used to kill

Metal swings + roundabouts a parkies whistle blows

Tolling of a bell says the park will shortly close


So different now the way of life the young no longer go

To spend their precious childhood in the place I used to know

Boys & girls of tender years dressed in their Sunday best

No longer grace the winding paths or pass the sparrow's nest



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