Hidden Hearts Poem by jim hogg

Imagine yourself in a woodland scene
by the verge of an old winding lane;
and circled around islands of green,
oceans of leaves rustling in waves.

Picture the beech and the sitka spruce
reaching through shade to the dizzying sky,
with beams of sunshine lighting the broom,
and hardly a sound when the wood pigeons fly

Ahead in the distance, through shadow and shine,
glints the White Loch’s shimmering blues,
a border of waves beyond chestnut and pine
and above it the castle in ruins.

A puzzle in brick from the second world war
catches the eye and confuses the brain.
It sits by the lane and tempts some to stop
where mostly these days serenity reigns;

except in the hearts unburdened down here
by youth when love was a furious blaze.
Etched in the bark of some ancient trees:
initials of lovers in happier days -

consigned to the trust of a living page.
Under the spell of some primitive urge -
something so deep that it had to be shared -
They told all the world they’d been captured by love.

Their carvings remind me when wandering here
of moments when feelings flowed fresh and pure
of times when it seemed there was nothing to fear.
It’s the unbroken thread of promise and truth

in the weaving of wonder, light and life:
we reach through shade to dizzying heights
for beams of sunlight to show the way through,
and blown on the winds that carry the leaves

we dream beyond the shimmering blue.