Park by Laura Alexandra Munteanu
They say behind some bush some story creeps,
High in each tree hides, some well crafted verse
Deep in each flow, some small magic sleeps
For our imagination to rehearse.
The winter-time, a stark and naked frame
In the springtime, her gay costume is spread
In summertime she spreads her fingers wide
In autumn she wears yellow, gold and red.
How did this escape the factory’s breath,
The advance of industry’s bold dreaming?
The car-park’s necessity, tar-mac death
Where no birds sing, but wake each day screaming.
The wall that was built, that kept the grass green
Kept safe this space, so that dreamers yet dream.
Nothing stays the same in time’s rich jig
We make both rich gains and count heavy losses,
Be we stalk a fine marshland winter pig
Or we raise carved stone Holy crosses.
Spite the battles fought, the flooded river
The cannon ball scream, the wall that withstood
The martyrs hope the Queen would forgive her
The citizens dead, in a river of blood.
The stories written, the children play here
The ships that sail the broad pond with the ducks
The bowling green’s grass and the rockery’s cheer
The rich-grey mud, whose embrace our feet sucks.
Every moment that ever made this place
Let us learn, how so special is this space.
Who knows then what secrets might yet sleep still
Beneath the green sward , tree, building and road
Beneath these trees, might we find time to kill,
So that a secret truth might yet be told.
Should we be here to hear and capture it
Though the words we cannot their meaning catch
The secret tongue of nature’s savage wit
Whose likeness, we cannot yet truly match.
Change is inevitable, they tell me
But I say all change is what we make it
It could be better for all, green, and free
Or we could forever, for all time break it.
Copyright the author and first published by Friends of Rowntree Park on Nov. 26th, 2013