Evelyn Golding

Minehead, UK

West Somerset is on the tourist map. However, it is only the privileged few who know the secret places. This poem is about a very special hidden glade where red deer visit to drink from the stream. Adam was a gardener. His love of the glade was founded soon after he was born. The seasons are intertwined with Adam's birth, life and death. The enchantment of that glade has passed to me.

Adam's Glade

As melting snow seeps slowly underground,
To join the stream and flow down to the sea,
New tender shoots of plants are all around -
Snowdrop, primrose and wood anemone.
The sun's pale rays caress the floral show.
Then blossoms turn their heads toward the light
And wait in expectation. For they know
The child who's born that day will bring delight.
Within the cradle Adam coos and sighs.
But when the newborn sees the sheltered glade
His gurgling laughter fills the air and skies.
The blooms rejoice. His future has been laid.
The tumbling stream acclaims that happy boy
As oak and ash unfurl their leaves in joy.

Soon summer sun displays its amber light
To give a warmth, unknown in springtime days,
The glade responds. Resplendent in this light
New flowers bloom in full and kindly ways.
But later still his majesty on high
Sends scorching rays and all these blossoms die
To live again and earth's good fruit supply.
The fields so brown for cooling waters sigh;
While man and beast in shady hedgerows hide.
Our Adam rests, enjoys this peaceful scene
Lifts up his heart to sounds of countryside.
The song of birds within the trees unseen;
And rippling waters sparkling in the sun
Complete this picture when day's work is done.

When Autumn leaves descend toward the glade
To kiss the earth and linger there awhile,
Our Adam comes with rake and hook and spade,
To clear the glade and build a golden pile.
Soon gentle wisps of smoke climb up; but die.
To rise again with sudden bursts of fire.
Then, swirling clouds go reaching for the sky
No leaves remain - of oak or ash or briar.
The smoke filled air brings haunting reveries
Of childhood games and secret rendezvouses.
Of wedding bells, of loving memories.
Our Adam stands, he dreams - but when he moves
He sees the night sky brightened by the moon
And longs for home - for winter's coming soon.

The glade still warm, has snowflakes drifting round.
They hover, land, begin to melt but freeze.
Old Adam contemplates the cooling ground
Then feels the coldness of the winter's breeze.
He turns for home accepting autumn's passed.
It's time for rest. No further work for him
While cloudy, gloomy skies are overcast.
Within his home the warmth envelops him.
In silence, floating snowflakes fill the glade,
Cover ferns, join the stream and cling to trees.
No sign of hook or broom or Adam's spade.
No daffodils or wood anemones.
The snow filled glade slumbers now; yet it sighs.
Old Adam dreams of spring before he dies.