childhood post collonialism hill retreat.

Frasier's Hill

As our car took us on the winding road
Up towards Frasier's Hill,
I heard the calls of birds and monkeys
Like a choir of voices so shrill
That they echoed over all the trees
And reached higher and higher until
They touched the clouds
That danced on Frasier's Hill.

I breathed the air so clean and fresh,
Saw grass so green and a sky so blue,
The different coloured roses were bathed
In a million drops of dew.
The old houses stood in their gardens
Each with memories so dear,
Of children who had lived there and played
Year after year.

Narrow paths cut through shrubs and ferns
Leading to places unknown,
Here and there stretched morning glories
Purple and overgrown.
When evening came the sun seemed to yawn
And lie down in a haze of gold,
Shadows became longer and would soon fill
The gardens, paths and tired houses
Of gentle Frasier's Hill.

Poetry by vicky vixen
Read 823 times
Written on 2005-12-08 at 17:58

Tags Hillside 

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I liked this!

Zoya Zaidi
Autumn leaves crunch under your feet,
strewn over the golden hills,
As you race down those paths,
where birds twitter and tweet,
The sky is blue, clouds floating through,
the breeze is cool and fresh,
In touches your face with a caress,
In veins blood rushes through....

xxx, Zoya

lastromantichero The PoetBay support member heart!
hi there

The nostalgic images here are so powerful that they reach into my own memory of childhood very well done to create this mood



I love to walk along narrow paths to unknown place that become your "secret nooks".

"The different coloured roses were bathed
In a million drops of dew" what a lovely descriptive collection of words, enjoyed the journey and the read.