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I am a great admirer of English poetry from the time of Chaucer up until the middle of the twentieth century when it appeared to lose its way. I love all aspects of this planet but are sometimes sad when I think of what we are doing to it.

Sunday, 7 November 2021

Answering The Call

Plates in the sink,

Pots still warm on the hob,

Scent of hot oil hangs in still air.

Chairs briskly pushed away from the table.

Boots that sat expectantly by the door are gone.

Through the window the sun was calling  ‘Come out, please come out!’

The two of them heard summer calling and gladly they heeded it!

Now they run in the welcoming fields, brushed with the touch of the friendly breeze,

Crowned with the soft thistledown, gilded with bright pollen, garlanded with butterflies.


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