Yon, beyond the elder hills
Of daisy chains and green o’ grass
Where a solitary reaper tills
Or lonely goes the village lass
Aye, beyond the summer plains
Where wholesome sets the sun
Or lights the shadows of the vanes
Upon which it has shone
That’s where the question doth arise
With the hemlock and the berry,
Of whether, when at dawn we rise,
We’re destitute or merry.
For nature calls us with her voice
Like an aisling, aye she’s pretty
And gives to us our twofold choice
Of the village or the city.
18th May – reluctant to name
my words have been clothed in your diadem,
when they will undress i do not know,
nor is it known what they will say,
my thoughts have been draped in your raiment,
of what material i am unsure,
nor do i know whether they are sad or gay,
my mind has been touched by your movement,
at what precise moment i cannot say:
do not try to unravel my thoughts,
for there are a million thoughts my lips would betray.
a sonnet about friendship
To a friend – 12th June
What happens to a weakened house
Whose owners long and long are gone
Where scurries here to there a mouse
In freedom roaming midst no-one?
As time goes on with strongest might
And reigns in fields of green and gold
There stands the house in barren blight
Amongst the hemlock, growing old.
But friendship’s now too strong to break,
No force shall break this house down now,
The years have taught us twain to take,
Our rare encounters anyhow.
Our august love is sure to last
And budding flowers will come to pass.