Yvonne Sparkes

We Have No Time

We have no time to pause and see

The Fox, The Hare, the mighty Tree.

Or see this world in full array,

The beauty of this glorious day.

We just let pass before our nose,

The fragrance of the summer`s Rose,

Or honeysuckled perfume fair,

Pervading senses from the air.

We miss the flights of migrant birds,

When honking Geese are often heard,

And there above in patterns fly,

Those V shaped columns in the sky.

With setting sun a blaze of glory,

Where reds and purples are her story,

We go our way in blinded fashion,

Missing all of natures passion.

The misty morn of Spiders web

When strung up on the hedgerows edge

Like jewels glistening in the sun,

A misty, dewy, autumns song.

The Rabbit close to eventide,

Comes from the burrow where he hides.

Feels free to nibble there at last,

Now all activity has passed.

So many dramas turn the page,

Of life in our creations stage

But, we pass by without a look

In nature's own great story book.

Chelmsford, Essex, England

Spring

Today I heard the Robin sing

I saw the very hand of Spring

Up on the bough the blossom burst

And new born leaves have quenched their thirst.

The day was gentle, like the rain,

Adorning this quiet country lane.

I walked so softly lest I tred,

On some awakened flower bed.

The bulbs like spears thrust through the earth,

And signify a brand new birth.

Such hope appears within the heart,

The drab of Winter will depart.

When all these colors flood the scene,

Encapsulated by the green.

Our hearts will quicken to the day,

That brings this beauty from the grey.

This Plank Of Wood

To think this plank of wood was once a tree.

How many lovers kissed near you, and carved the names I see?

How many little birds nested high up on the bow?

Raising feathered families, who have lost a good home now.

What man with axen sharp cut so deep to fell you true?

Leaving just a partial trunk, a remnant that was you.

How in majesty you lived, now sadly you will die,

To become a plank, a piece of wood,

In some building you will lie.

But, when I touch you now, I shall think of finer days,

Of the season`s changing your green leaves,

Of the lovers and their ways.

Of the merry games of children,

As you stood both proud and tall.

Yes, this will be my memory, when your past I will recall.

Like Two Trees

I saw two trees in fond embrace,

Their trunks entwined and interlaced.

They`ve been so long in fixed abode,

They had fused together, and it showed.

As if the very hand of time, stood still,

This picture so sublime,

Would frame within my memory

A pure delight and joy to see.

This brought to mind a marriage when,

Two people vowed to be akin,

And sometimes life would draw them thus,

Or part their ways, without a fuss.

But, now and then, occasionally,

They would fuse together like the trees.

It`s then they weathered every storm,

Though life hurled problems, caused no harm,

As joined together hearts and minds,

They embraced the years and intertwined.

The Rowan Tree

The green of delicate leaf I see.

This vision there surrounding me,

With her berries growing wild and free,

My pretty little Rowan Tree.

She is like a graceful ballet dance,

That would my very soul entrance,

By her rocking, shimmering, lovely, stance,

My pretty little Rowan Tree.

She wears a pride and dignity.

Has an air of transient mystery.

Sets her place in lore and history.

My pretty little Rowan Tree.

So magical her powers seem.

They ward of evil, calm the dream,

Or praise the creator, find the theme.

My pretty little Rowan Tree.

Gather all in merry throng.

Leap for joy in hearts of song.

For this is where my heart belongs,

My pretty little Rowan Tree.

The Scots Pine

Have you breathed the scent of the Pine?

Intoxicating, like a very fine wine,

With needles so sharp and pine cones so fair

A fine stately lady with her head in the air.

She has a great past and her history goes far.

She was born there in Scotland, an original star.

Part of Britains great forest that covered this land.

To make us so splendid and look very grand.

But, sadly the ages have seen her decline,

Though the Eagle and Osprey are saved just in time.

Her numbers are sparse, to catch sight of her good,

And the smell of her needles, the feel of her wood.

Now natives remember with a fond memory,

When Britain was covered with all her beauty.

So with homage I bow to my Queen of the trees

With the hope that we keep her forever to please.

Poppies

Between the grain the Poppies grow,
With bright red faces, row on row,
And give their bodies to the breeze,
To tantalize the eyes, and please.

This carpet like a setting sun,
Spreads out its blanket, becomes one.
As far as human eyes can see,
A blood red show in front of me.

So many artists try to capture,
This moment held in nature's rapture.
When Poppies give their scarlet faces
To our lovely country places.

Poppies come and Poppies go.
Give summer such a glorious show.
She is my flower of the fields,
When nature gives abundant yields.

Then dormant she will lay again,
Beneath the soil, in country lane.
Twixt snow and hail, or rain and sleet,
No tempest strong, cause her defeat.

Her will to shine, that plays the tune,
Her majesty to blaze in June
And ever more this flower will be,
The dearest one of all for me.

© 2004 Yvonne Sparkes