She played in the overgrown, back field of weeds,
With her playmates, surrounded by colourful beeds,
Strung accross the forest, with it's wild flung seeds,
With the sound of the cuckoo like an echo of nature's chance,
She is a princess holding close her prince as they dance,
Her shyness captures the beauty of words in her head,
Dreams caress her unexplained fears,
As later, she slept in her bed,
Colliding stars, sparkle and explode with passion,
Turning her worn, blue dress into the height of fashion,
She feels like an orphan of these city streets,
With the constant, noise of traffic with dust and grime,
But in her field of weeds, her blue eyes shine,
With the fascination of been able to change the precious nettles,
Into pink and white petals,
In the cooling breeze they fall onto her fine, brown hair,
A hat of flowers settles.
She was a child of the wild ways,
Of natures hidden, forgotten places,
Reality was the freedom of stories told abour her many faces,
A cowgirl, an orphan, a princess of the wide open spaces,
A different pace,
Away from the concrete race,
She still holds these memories of who she was,
As her soul still feeds,
From the abundance of creativity of her childhood
In the glorious field of weeds.
Beautiful poem Hazel I was carried away to the field of weeds as I read i could almost get the scent of honeysuckle Well done
Beauty can always be found between the weeds if one will look. Great write Hazel.
In the field of weeds, how this charming girl capture's our attention like a solitary flower that sways in the wind! I am reminded of the famous lines of Thomas Gray ; “Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen And waste its sweetness on the desert air....... Enjoyed this flash view of the maiden of the weeds
Weeds are also a reality and the solitary lass here has got a capsising charm of her own.... Excellent write Hazel, Your visit to the P.H has become a rare thing and I hope among many weeds your poems will ever sprout and grow till they give blossoms beautiful.
O! When we were young how those imaginary things seemed so real.well wrote Hazel enjoyed Alan big 10
Wasting its sweetness in the desert air.......... of Thomas grey. i was reminded o f after reading your beautiful poem.. childhood memories well up in my heart.......... thank you dear poetess. tony
This transported me back to my childhood innocence Hazel.....to the privacy and freedom of the meadows where I knew all the creepy crawlies and could name every weed. Delightful poem.
Beautiful poem Hazel. Your poem made the fields of Weeds very pretty. To see a beauty in wild weed too is a creativity in your words. It reminded me of childhood memories, where it was beautiful to run with bare feet in the fields. Beautiful flow of words for cowgirl woven into a lovely poem. Loved reading each lines.
Bursting with a beauty that beckons us to return to the nostalgic niceness of childhood. Well done my friend!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Mmmmm, and who would this maiden be? Tales of youthful fun, love and glory! I loved it.