It was our Mimsey, our forgotten isle,
Our kingdom, fit for our rule.
Innocent, we roamed across it
Made of it our land of hazy delight.
The stream our river, the trees
Our castle walls.

And when the bluebells came
It was a place of perfect enchantment
We would stand in the water
And believe in the dreams we
Conjured, the feasts of our
Imagination, we played together.

But after a while I was alone
Mimsey became smaller
I did not have the bravery
To explore its highest echelons.

Humbled, I remained
Paddling in the stream.
The high banks rising above me
And reminding me
That you were
Older, gone, had put all
Childish things away
And only I could conjure
How we used to play.

I’ve come back to Mimsey
Our kingdom, our own land
And not a trace of how
We knew it, saw it, transformed it
Remains. Choked by brambles
Ravaged by fallen trees
Mimsey has fallen back into nature
As the bare sand is consumed by the seas.

And where we played is lost
Under a shroud of thorns
The bluebells grow there
No longer, and all of our childish dreams
Remain buried, hidden, secreted, forgotten.

They’ll never know how we played here
Although our own memories will never
Die. Mimsey will always be
Our kingdom, our promised land
And although it lies buried, hidden,
I look at it, and am glad.

Rose Staveley-Wadham