I grew up reading the classics; Dickens, Austen, Longfellow, Wordsworth, etc. From novels to poetry, I could not get enough of them. Those are the wondrous lines and meters that shaped my own writing, inspiring me in so many ways. After doing my genealogy I found that I had many authors in my background so it seems the writing bug is deeply embedded. Over the years of my writing career, I developed a love of narrative poetry. Where Fields of Heather Lay is one of the first that I wrote and has become one of my favorites. Every time I write a poem that is this deep I feel as if I have written someone’s story. Sometimes they are happy tales, others not so, but in each and every one is the rich telling of experience. Whether it be joy or sorrow, there is always some value and growth taken from the depths and between the lines.

There upon God’s homespun hill where fields of heather lay

Through wooded paths young Kenneth walked toward my home to play

A peasant’s son, the hours long that he did labor hard

Then on the evening stole away into the castle yard

My father winked at our child-play, my mother liked it not

and all of his good merits failed to change her darkest thought

Then eyes of green grew to a man, our hearts were ever fused

As wealthy suitors sought my hand I solemnly refused

By shallow streams and aging trees our love grew ever stronger

But great would be my mother’s wrath if ever we did wrong her

Then upon the acreage, where fields of heather lay

We pledged one to the other’s heart and planned to wed one day

With caution we had tried to hide the love that had so grown

But mother read into my eyes, our feelings then were known

Therefore, I was forbidden to ever speak of him

Nor was I free to venture forth or see his face again

But then my Kenneth went to fight against my father’s foe

With battle ax and bloodied sword he countered every blow

By slaying our oppressor, Kenneth’s prize was wealth and land

And then my father took me forth and gave to him my hand

My mother so did hate our love, she turned to stone within

And pledged assassins wealth and gold if Kenneth’s life would end

The priest stood there, beneath a tree where fields of heather lay

All court was present, gentry too, upon our wedding day

The rites were read and vows were sealed, two hearts became as one

I turned to see my husband then, whose face beamed like the sun

But as he reached to take my hand an arrow pierced his heart

And deep green eyes grew sadly dim as death tore us apart

I fell to earth there by his side and felt him slip away

While blood spilled down upon the ground where fields of heather lay

From convent walls that grace the sky, I still may look at him

As maypop vines embrace the stone that holds his name within

I’ve lived a solitary life, a nun unto this day

And worn with age soon I will sleep where fields of heather lay