And the Beauty has gone By

Terry Trainor By Terry Trainor, 14th Dec 2014 | Follow this author | RSS Feed | Short URL
Posted in Wikinut>Writing>Poetry

This post has been written about the country way of life before the land enclosure laws enforced in the late eighteenth century. This part of our history is not well documented. This era is a passion of mine as the lands were free and opened there were many more plants and flowers, many of the names now lost in time. Some of my nature posts seem simple and a little boring to some but the research that goes into my posts is difficult and sometimes frustrating because of the lack of information.

Pear Trees

The bursting blossoms of wild pear trees make them stand proud in their glory and lavish promises of plenty to all,
Rosebushes send fourth not merely leaves but long crimson shoots and scents to create a wonderland of delight,
Flowers in the earth shout, “Let us have warmth and we shall rush out like a pack of school boys at noonday play.
And all waited as we knew summer would not dare to come out until a lone cuckoo sings a song on a bare thorn.


In the foreground stands a farm house with fine old trees about it, stables close by with cattle heads peering over doors,
There are dear little windows in the old gable with its open casement and diamond panes crafted together with lead,
Then follow the sweetest walks down by the mill, the moonlight leaps over the sunk fence at the end of the garden,
To take a one of natures most heavenly walks along a quince path, then to be startled by a farmers head asking, “Who’s there?”

Scouring Pails

A young lady is scouring pails with a wisp of straw and wet sand and rearing them on a stone bench to dry and sweeten,
She calls her cows up by blowing a long horn and her father and his men walk up from distant fields for their meal,
She is the farmers daughter a lively girl of eighteen, fair as the lily, fresh as May dew, sweet as the rose and clove gillivers,
And modest as an early morning, all this in a farm house in hidden greenery only accessed by wagon grooved paths.


The blackthorns and plums are in orchards along the grooved paths and show themselves thickly clustered with buds,
A whiteness of the blossom is half revealed, like the smile of an arch cottage damsel who risks rebuke should she sally out,
Buds of the many trees along the road are daily swelling growing more conspicuous as if they must come forward, be what may,
And again the bursting blossoms of the pear make them stand proud in their glory and lavish promises of plenty to all.

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author avatar Terry Trainor
14th Dec 2014 (#)

Thanks Steve

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author avatar cnwriter..carolina
15th Dec 2014 (#)

love it all, words, photos, video...thank you so much Terry...blessings...

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author avatar Terry Trainor
15th Dec 2014 (#)

Thanks CN

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author avatar Stella Mitchell
15th Dec 2014 (#)

This is the old Terry I remember ...tantalizing the appetite of past memories yet again.
Bless you
Stella ><

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author avatar Terry Trainor
15th Dec 2014 (#)

Thank you Stella my dear friend. xx

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author avatar Sivaramakrishnan A
17th Dec 2014 (#)

Those days are gone forever, replaced by those that glitter, flatter, only to deceive, thanks Terry for taking me to days yonder - siva

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author avatar Terry Trainor
17th Dec 2014 (#)

You're welcome my friend

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