I haven’t been to visit Longwood Gardens at Christmas
since my parents were living , and spry, and in West Chester; that’s about 20
years, at least. However, I loved the
winter lights on the outside trees, as well as the breathtaking decorations in
the conservatories.
I grew up about five miles from this wonderful place,
and visited there often. In those days,
there was no admission charge. Now it costs a pretty penny to get in, but it
pays for the upkeep and all the gardeners and horticulturalists, so it goes.
I wrote a poem about it a few years ago, though the
poem does not even begin to touch the beauty of the place at every season:
Hymn
to Longwood Gardens
How
is it that I was born five miles from you,
born
to walk your three hundred acres for twelve years?
Now,
thirty years later,
In
the satiny iced lawns of February,
I
dream of your sumptuous beds
of
lavender
luminous
in the summer twilight,
your
solitary fountain
stumbled
upon in the deep shade,
of
thrush revealing her speckled breast in the mulch
behind
the Italian water gardens.
I
dream of my first love
plucking
my hand into his,
a
young, thin, fine, freckled hand,
the
first holding of hands
as
we entered the garden
for
a fountain display
on
a starlit July evening.
In
those days, you were free.
Now,
you have flourished,
and
your entrance fee is costly.
No comments:
Post a Comment