I can’t help thinking about poetry when I see these lovely lilacs that grow in our side garden. When I was a teenager I loved poetry, most particularly Victorian poets like Shelly, Byron and Robert and Elizabeth Browning. I can still sit and read poetry aloud until all hours of the night. I love poetry because it takes me to a place of solitude, a place of stillness, a place where images are vivid and my love for life is heightened. I remember standing at the top of a castle and looking down on London many years ago. All I could utter was: “Dear God, the very houses seem asleep and all that mighty heart is lying still.” I stole the words of a poet to express what I felt in that moment. The poem is by William Wordsworth.
I wish I could find the words and the metaphors to describe how much I love lilacs but not a crime to write bad poetry. The only way I can say it:
Lilac tree, your subtle scent, your regal reach
Oh, Where did you come from?
Was it a genie that brought you here or a fairy gnome?
Perhaps the earth beneath?
Your vibrant lilac flowers
are music to my soul
And every mile away I walk
Your colors I behold
I dare not touch your fragile song
that finds me in my sleep
and keeps me at your beck and call
where the days do linger deep
Now every sigh and tender kiss
Are carried in your breath
I will take you with me
Far beyond the day of death
My senses drink your endless air
Perfumed with taste so sweet.
I will do your bidding
As the lilac sky retreats
