image from pinterest.com
“We are reminded of the fairies’ hazelnuts, in which
diamonds were concealed.”--Neville Cardus.
As an only child,
I would play beneath
our hazel plant.
It grew in the loving shade
of an ancient oak.
My family loved hazelnuts.
My mother would grind them up.
making a paste
that she smeared on her baked goods.
My father called it a hazel tree,
but it was more shrub than tree.
I was mysteriously drawn to it.
It became my special place,
my refuge and emotional bastion.
I would take my writer’s notebook
out there and compose poetry.
I called it Hazel, as my companion
and pretend sister.
One day my father
went off to War,
to fight the Nazis.
Six months later, an Army sedan
drove into the yard.
They told us
that my father had been killed.
I went out to the hazel wood
because a fire was in my head.
She held me until
the flames became ash.
Posted over at d'Verse Poet's Pub