Daaskmere Monk

William of Meadowsford

Book Cover

arrowShawn Postoff

Copyright © 1997 - 2009
arrowInfinitive Ink Limited


X ill title William Rests

The place I’m recalling right now in my mind
Is truly a good and unusual find.
‘Tis nothing fantastic or wondrous or great,
‘Twas untouched by man until one day by fate
I chanced upon meeting this sight as I rode
My stallion ‘cross lands that were far from the road.
It happened that day I had tangled my ride
In woodlands more thick than most others abide.
And picking my way through the forested mesh,
The thoughts of retreating were long ago fresh.
But still for some reason I pushed farther on,
‘Til sud’ly resistance was ended and gone.
And there, with my horse, had a threshold been passed:
Before us unfolded a treasure at last.

This vision was simply a field full in bloom,
A meadow that freely and softly made room
For flowers of every fine colour and hue
That glistened and sparkled in sun’s morning dew.
How could I resist the temptation I found
To rein up my horse and jump down to the ground?
That meadow discovered me awe-struck and dumb,
Enraptured with freshness and no longer numb.
The festering thoughts of Blind Tom disappeared,
Were borne on the wind and my heart was soon cleared
Of sickness and sorrow that had for so long
Enslaved my emotions and stifled my song.
So now could I sing my desires and needs,
Alone in the meadow of sweet-smelling seeds,
Where blossoms and flowers had fragrances grand.
How drunk I became in that sacred, pure land!
From that day I knew I had found me a place
Where none could disturb or deflower my space.
The field was enclosed and surrounded by trees,
So I could in private behave as I’d please.

I’d sometimes arrive there at mid-afternoon,
And spend some brief moments recalling a tune,
Then hum to me softly the melody line,
And toast me the joy of that musical wine.
But soon would my duties full beckon me back,
So I to the household would hasten my track.
And while I returned I designed some excuse
In case I was asked why the hour was loose.
That pasture had senses, of that I’ve no doubt:
It knew me and drew me my thinking right out.
It sang to me softly its ways and its winds,
And drained me of all of my worldliest sins.
Each breath of its fragrance infused me with joy,
Awoke inspirations I’d known as a boy.
I’ve never forgotten that small patch of land,
A personal Eden designed of God’s hand.

But now I will leave from my mind’s sacred field,
And once again ready my head’s heavy shield.
Tomorrow the Garden I’ll leave and erase,
And fall still again from the Meadows of Grace.
‘Tis after this rest will my journey resume,
And carry me close to the threshold of doom.