FOREST FAIR
All dressed in green, quite pristine,
The trees of England stand
As gents and ladies, brightly robed,
The finest in our land.
But one young lady stands alone.
She’s wearing last year’s clothes,
A tawdry brown, her skirts hang down.
In tatters, all forlorn
The larch in March, the sycamore too,
The oak and beech all dressed to kill,
What ails this maid so naked still?
What can the trouble be?
But wait! ’Tis June. A transformation
Upon the maid has come.
Of palest green, her soft-veined leaves
Branch out into a gown.
The fairest tree was ever seen,
The ash has now become a queen.
Mrs D Ridley, Frosterley
NEW HORIZONS
They’ve done it at last
Grandchildren and sons
Dragged me out of the past
By promising ‘fun’.
A laptop they tell me
Is easy to use
Come into this century
Now I am confused.
What great grandchildren take
For granted, is strange to me,
But what changes it makes
As I talk I can see
Family in far distant places
It’s a dream, a small heaven
As I see smiling faces
A big step for me, now aged 87.
O Fish, West Burton, Leyburn
MONEY
Why are so many governed
By the need for ownership
Of everything that’s wordly
As they journey on life’s trip,
And crave for the illusive
That is possible to buy
Upon the streets of freedom
Where despondency is high?
The wizards of life’s retail
Are enticing humankind
To purchase any item
That will satisfy the mind,
And blow away the debris
Lurking in its consciousness
That represents the needy
Who have never known excess.
There are so many worldly
In this world of disbelief
Where money’s the dictator
Causing unrelenting grief,
And thriving on the debtors
Living out a sad affair
With no way of escaping
From the shackles of despair.
The high streets of persuasion
Beckon affluence on earth
To revel in the practice
Of developing its worth,
And sense the buzz in buying
Anything at any cost
By souls who feel bewildered
At the sums of money lost.
Iaian W Wade, Redcar
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