First Memory

The giants are speaking

In the language I do not know.

Before I came here I spoke

Fluent bird and breeze.

They are busy taking cheese boards

Out of wicker baskets

So I scamper like a wild rabbit

Over the green carpet.

There is a watercolour, blue canopy

Hanging over the green mountains.

On it drift fluffy white things,

I think they are posies of lily-of-the-valley.

A fawn-coloured lighthouse

Is dripping with tissue-paper pearls

And glistening, crimson beads

That sway like magic swings.

On my sage gingham skirt 

Sits a river-coloured whisper with wings.

It quivers, flies over the green mountain.

I wonder where it is going.