Oh Fitzwilliam Lane
Little damp meadow.
by Joan Knight
I played upon you in my childhood,
I gazed on your wild plants:
Trembling grass, penny moons, marsh marigolds,
Cowslips, celandine and rushes.
I listened to the birds' songs, even the lark's.
But your greatest beauty was the May blossom,
And the year you were taken,
I had never seen your hedges so glorious.
I marvelled at them every day
During the month of my birth
As I travelled to and from my work place.
Then you were gone!
I shall never forget you,
And I feel sad for the children
Who never saw you and played upon you.