In a corner of a cottage.
In a corner of a cottage there is a stick between the clock and the wall,
In the days a sticks description reflected, a picture of its owner,
It could be an ash plant, with a face cut on its knob or a thick hazel
A hazel with a woodbine, that has grown tightly round and grew upon on it.
An old couple, from the ancient world, walk very slowly on the muddy road,
They totter and stoop once a week to their church, their longest journey.
The old man leans heavily on his trusted stick, white hair shoulder length,
An old worn coat, with steel buttons and a square collar, an antique air.
His breeches are of leather and worn bright with age, scratched trough time,
They stand up at the knees, like the lids of pewter, planished, tankards,
And his old loose shoes that also have large steel buckles, slip off his feet,
He walks as a grieving man, at a funeral, eyes red and sore, back hunched.
By his side, his lovely old dame, with her old-fashioned bonnet, takes center stage,
Her gown with its large flowery pattern, pulled up by through the pocket hole,
Showing a well quilted petticoat, black stockings, high heeled shoes, with buckles,
She has on a black-moad cloak, edged with old lace, carefully darned, and clean.
Walk into their house there would be an old oak chest, with fifty-year-old clothes,
And it makes a person wonder who will wear this coat, when she has gone,
It will not be the children as fashions have changed, so then the old coat will be changed,
A tear wets the eye
The pink, wild, dog rose looks out along the winding valley,
And that is the place, of my loved one, I shall go to see,
A hardly known vale, home of the magical nightingale,
Where he sings his songs so sadly a tear wets the eye.
A maiden sits on a river bank with a ready smile and red blush,
Humming a folk song while culling the lemons which are sour,
She picks some daisies and loops them over head as a grand garland,
In this rose vale people walk for miles to listen to the nightingale.
February 1943, Letter from US War Department
The maiden walks the Valley meadow, picks fairest fruit in soft hands,
For a gift to her boy friend who is digging coal deep in deepest ground,
She wears her hat of straw, to please her lovely man, and some bread,
All wrapped in a delicate little hanker chief, and waits for his return.
Britain may look a little shop worn and grimy to you,
There has been a war on since 1939 and things have been hard,
Houses haven't been painted, factories are not making paint,
Instead making planes, for the war effort, they cannot make enough.
British trains are cold and drafty, power is used in industry,
British people are anxious for you to know it's not always this way,
Don't be misled by the British tendency to be soft spoken and polite,
As they can be plenty rough too, also they under emphasize problems.
The language didn't cross the oceans by luck, so no panty-waist jokes,
Remember crossing the ocean doesn't automatically make you a hero,
There are housewives and children who have seen more warfare than you,
So utter respect is a word that must be ingrained into your sub conscience.
If your English host exhorts you to 'eat up' when there is plenty more,
It will be the family's ration for a week, spread out as hospitality,
Most British food is imported, even in peace time, Men die to get through,
The British people know that people get killed delivering essential food.
Bright suns of October
The watery, warm, bright suns of October are the last of the season,
Autumn winds up its account of harvests, and going shirtless, stops,
Summer is leaving, to go abroad, but nature has one last act to play,
October is the month, the forests and woods, don their finest clothes.
The rich warm colours cast beauty on the landscape, unrivaled,
How wonderful to range through wood and fields, in this changing season,
Peasants, busy in hop fields, wearing their bright yellow waist coats,
Boys, climbing apple trees, both are brown, brown as the late berries.
Groups of people heading towards towns loaded with sticks and fallen leaves,
Bound up in sheets, on their heads, indicating a forest or wood nearby,
Nights warn all to return home earlier in October, as daylight gets shorter,
A chill, an edge to a cool breeze, streams gather pace, change is in the air.
Wave goodbye to summer, amidst the banquet of bountiful nature, and green leaves,
Climb the tinted and veined horse chestnut, grab burst open spiky green shells,
Watch hosts of birds enjoying a plentiful feast of beech-nuts from tree tops,
And man has his ample stores laid up in winter garners, food for colder times/
October, prepare for Winter
October is a month in which we still walk, but days are short,
The bright hours of the day shows us freshness and green,
And we are thankful for all the beauty summer has bought us,
Also some butterflies still hover over flowers in gardens.
Birds settle on a warm wall enjoying the glow of noon sun,
Leaves change colour, rich and warm, the cast is unrivaled,
Happily walking through a wood seeing the wind coming near,
Driving many tinted leaves before it, treading on soft soil.
Treading on their rustling masses in the still, warm, glades,
Feeling the profound language of the season, buoyant at heart,
Watching hops being harvested, ready to make strong heady ale,
Yielding up. amid songs and shouts, their green luster, applauded.
Orchards are picked clean of their fruits, apples for potent cider,
Diggers busy in the potato fields ready for the next ploughing,
The storing of potatoes, carrots and Swedish turnips, hard work,
But very rewarding seeing a year of your hard work stacked high.
It is time to sow wheat, beans and winter dills in new turned soil,
Timber trees are felled, and others planted, the cycle goes on,
The farmer repairs his gates and fences, lay plenty of winter fuel,
Then stares across his land to settle his mind, all is done, finished.
When we enjoyed heavy snow.
The frost of a cold January continues through till March,
A proverb was, as the day lengthened the cold strengthened,
In spite of cold, people in the countryside, enjoy the freeze,
Sliding, skating, shooting and snowballing and just walking.
Boys fly down frozen, snow covered hills on all sorts of sledges,
Faster than birds and with wonderful delight, falling and rolling,
The grown up people enjoy the snow, in their sledges bells ringing'
Drawn by horses, sledges, sliding effortlessly over road and path.
Ladies and gentlemen wrapped in furs, full of joy and seasonal laughter,
Cracking their whips astounding clamour, parading through towns ,
Returning later attended by torch-bearers, what a pleasurable day?
Dancing, and sport, places to go, followed by evening balls, masquerades.
In towns walking by day is a bracing and delightful form of exercise,
But in the closing evening towns and cities a reign of enjoyment begins,
Arriving home, there blazes out bright fire from the English hearth
And all congregate around it in groups, from business, sons and brothers.
Husband returns bringing the news of the day, and his wife opens the piano,
Songs sung, good conversation fill the measures of domestic bliss and harmony,
Later the theater and concerts unfold their charms, wonders and delight,
Enjoy the cage of Bajazet and the conquests of Tamerlane, with a fine old port.
Sharp thorns
The chestnuts are in full flower, the sycamores sounds with bees,
Grass is knee deep and full of flowers, the dog rose climbs a post,
There are cowslips swaying gently in its corner of a lush green meadow,
Cowslips retire at the end of May, their day is now over, say goodbye.
Blackberry bushes burst into flower, protected by sharp thorns,
Grass grows higher around the hedges of the glade, than the field,
Sitting on a bank by a river, rushing from the earlier heavy rain,
Gray shrubbery rocks hide in the grass and swallows sing overhead.
Bird nests are found in trees and bushes, guarded by jealous mums,
Lapsing waters, blossoms and an array of grasses delight wildlife,
The blossoms of the many apple trees is over, blow away by a May breeze,
Blossom floats on the water quickly out of sight, heading towards the sea.
A proud quince in full bloom, with its pale flowers and yellow leaves,
The weather is warm, not too hot, just right for a long stroll at midday,
Enjoy the river banks with its mustard tribes, next to the giant coltsfoot,
Wander over to a copse of trees hiding blue-bells, a secret not to be shared.