Bedraggled green stems
Whose ochre bells
And lemon skirts droop
on the snow.
A sign of early Spring
Defeated by late winter.
A crow pecks the iron ground
Whose silver gleams
Are without promise.
A still air hangs mist
Among branches.
Trees tall silhouettes
of ebony as their stretching
Reaches into the cold day.

Prayers for Palm Sunday
Echo from a nearby church.
Children, running, shouting,
laughing under a bluebell sky.
Joyful, though Summer is a long
time coming and the days
are short.
Not for them, childhood
is lengthy.
Let not our winter destroy
their Spring so that
the warmth of Summer
Will blossom again.



No more light.
He has gone.
Gold shines the sun
For us who live on.
There is no sound
That he will hear.
Music won’t now
Delight his ear.

He can’t feel
The gentle touch
Of one who loved
Him so much.
As time passes
Can we know
How to retain it?
No, not so.

Topaz light fades.
Dusk is falling.
The birds of eve
Sweetly calling.
Away sad dreams
Of those we’ve lost,
Till radiant sun gleams
On the morning frost.


White, White, White,
Snow on the ground.
White white, white
Falling all around.

Light, light, light
Shining from the sky.
Light light light.
Drifts are piling high.

Race, race, race,
The drops of snow,
Chase, chase, chase
On the wind they blow.

White, white, white.
Watch the flakes go.
White, white, white,
See the winter glow.


She yearns to the sky
That stretches so high.
To just sense the rain.
To feel it again.
The clouds drift in vain.
The soft summer rain.

How far the gulls fly
Beyond human eye.
So golden does seem
The pale August dream.
Each passing sun beam
So dazzling does seem.

She yearns to just walk
And happily talk
Once more with her love,
The green trees above,
Folded in his love
Yet again.


If the day wouldn’t go quickly
And time didn’t move so fast
Before she’d prepared for the future
Or become reconciled with the past.

It had seemed to her every minute
Dissolved in a misty haze
Without containing her in it.
Or was this just a dreamy phase?

If we could imprison each hour
With Mozart and Hyacinth perfume.
A vision of each tiny flower
Permanently in bloom,

Then captive ecstatic seconds
Could lengthen the passing day.
And the ticking clock that reckons
Would be told to go away!


May I view the sea once more,
Silver waves beneath gull’s wings,
To the horizon from the shore,
Fresh, salt breeze, where the heart sings.

Once, when young, bikini clad,
Sun bronzed child of the sea.
Looking back could make her sad
Recalling how she was then free.

The screaming of the gulls
From the wind lashed foam excites.
Not even her memory dulls
All these wonderful delights.

Oh! How the raging sea excites!

ARRAS – FRANCE. 26.8.2007.

We went to Arras and heard a band playing
A great bit of modern jazz.
So we thought of staying
Though it wasn’t Paris
We all liked the raz a ma taz.

People came dressed in traditional best
And smiled as they greeted the crowd.
The fun fair was swinging.
We felt like singing
And did so but not very loud.

A great time in Arras,
Though it wasn’t Paris.
We enjoyed ourselves there.
We went to a church with wonderful windows
And hopefully said a prayer.

The people eating at cafes outside
Showed great enjoyment and pleasure.
My memory of Liz and John will abide
To recall in the future and treasure..

It made us all laugh when a waiter
dropped lunch
All over the cobbled street.
He seemed unconcerned
At the food in his path
And grinned which we
Thought rather sweet.

We left with regret
But glad to have met
And shared Sunday together
in France.
A festival scene in a town
bright and clean
Whose memory our lives
will enhance

A lady handed us each a shallot
To be eaten in salad the ‘morrow
And we were thankful for all that we got
Though our departure
Was tinged with sorrow.