Remembrance Of Elms Poem by Martin Ward

Golden summers,
when as a child
I walked through fields
blessed by sun and azure skies.

Hedgerows, filled
with ripe fruits
and species which I aged
according to Hooper's Law.

Cow parsley, elder
and oak or blackthorn
shelter beneath the rural
Manhattan skyline.

Now something is missing.
Landscapes still wonderful,
but bereft of their lover:
the elm.

In sea-shanties,
men sing of hearts of oak,
but my heart lies
by the stump of an elm.

Recently, I found something:
an undertaker's receipt
for my grandfather's funeral,
and supply of an elm coffin.

Miss Havisham's wedding cake,
withered and cobwebbed;
the tiers no longer stand
underneath unconsummated skies.

Those halcyon days,
kissed by verdant nature;
I long for their return,
but will never see them again.