Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
sign me up
Stay in the loop and register for email updates about events, competitions and all things poetry.
What are the geese pulling
Through the frosted air?
They are pulling the tides
And Autumn's hair.
They are coaxing the moon
From its yawning lair.
They are sweeping the snow
From the starlit stair,
And escaping the jaws of the Polar Bear.
What are the geese pulling
Through the frosted air?
They are pulling Winter
On her painted sledge.
They are leaving cobwebs
On a frosted hedge.
They are sweeping eastwards
Leaving Springtime's pledge
And a glass of moonlight
On your window-ledge.
From Candelabrum Vol 12 No 4 (October 2006)
Winter is cold-hearted,
Spring is yea and nay,
Autumn is a weathercock
Blown every way.
Summer days for me
When every leaf is on its tree;
When Robin's not a beggar,
And Jenny Wren's a bride,
And larks hang singing, singing, singing,
Over the wheat-fields wide,
And anchored lilies ride,
And the pendulum spider
Swings from side to side;
And blue-black beetles transact business,
And gnats fly in a host,
And furry caterpillars hasten
That no time be lost,
And moths grow fat and thrive,
And ladybirds arrive.
Before green apples blush,
Before green nuts embrown,
Why one day in the country
Is worth a month in town;
Is worth a day and a year
Of the dusty, musty, lag-last fashion
That days drone elsewhere.
Facebook
Twitter
