My Mother teaches me the fading skills
How to clean fish, plait garlic, draw pheasants
How to distinguish wading birds,
How to make linen lace.
I know her ache, because it is in me
I try to teach anyone who’ll listen
wild flowers; their legends, properties, names
I do this in full love of the fresh world.
But a voice says
Lose things, forget them, let them go
See all things always the first time
Un-named. In wonder.
By Kerry Hardie.