Memory scurries like a wind, Through the grass, where flowers stand, Each petal a piece of nostalgia, In a ground, grazed by sunlight’s hand.

And the trees, like wands in a spell, Guard the laughter of children long gone, Their echoes remain in the hollows, Though the time winds away at dawn.

Yet in this moment—stillness falls, Captured in shadows long as dreams, The heart thumps vocabulary of nature, Speaking deep truths among the beams.

• Stephen Spender