This poem vanished for a few days, and then inexplicably reappeared, as if it had been off to take a quick wander around the woods. Belfairs is a glorious place, whatever the time of year: site of many a post-Christmas dinner walk, takeaway from the restaurant or a sneaky wood fired pizza from the van which parks outside a few times a week. Honestly, it’s the centre of so many things.

It’s also a reminder of how we celebrate lives: whether it be our new World War One soldier, permanent reminder of how lucky we all are to be here or the benches scattered across the site. Take a moment to consider how much has changed, then go nip to the lovely new Woodland Centre for a sit down and a natter. They hold dog shows there too, you know, gonna do outdoor theatre this year too. It’s all happening here.

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In Loving Memory

 

Here lies a life, recalled
brass plaque synopsis cast, slow cooled
first placed within
the bench that views
last tee;
one history.

Loving memory, forever held
regarding vistas solace, grants
insight of others’ loves:
sight named
last resting spot;
never forgot.

Lest we observe, others left
conspicuous remains, rain
waters dead bouquets,
tongue tied days
last chance;
futures advance.

Do not remember me
as bench memorial, instead
hold tight our memories:
wood knots fail
joy’s hope;
never mope.