The Dandelion

It took a common Dandy

On some fallow wayside dod

To show all things have purpose

Within the eyes of God

A host of yellow Dandys

When skies were grey and glum

To illuminate life’s pathway

And imitate the sun

When stood amongst the roses

The two stand leagues apart

But a Dandy’s healing properties

Are worth more than scented hearts

A wragged headed Dandy

To remind us in this life

Of one like her from lowly roots

Who became a shining light

Yes it took a wretched Dandy

That horticultural pest….

To teach the world the humblest

Oft find ranks amongst the blest

Gillian Walsh, Helmsley, York

In Silent Reverie

Remembrance is a gallery

With an ever-open door

Where we resurrect what used to be

Of which is now no more

Nostalgia is a voyage

Sailed aboard a sacred barque

Fuelled just by yearning

Navigated by the heart

Recollections are the brief return

Of pleasures gone from sight

Things to which just memory lane

Can give the kiss of life

Reminiscence is a moment…

Spent in silent reverie

In respect now for the graveyard

Where a forest used to be

Gillian Walsh, Helmsley, York

Autumn’s Nine Carat Gold Frame

It was then when the sun was most mellow

When it glowed like a new sheaf of grain

And pheasant appeared like pictures

Surrounded by autumn’s gilt frame

It was when certain land became fallow

When leaves had turned amber and gold

When the scent from the rose was declining

And spring lambs would soon leave the fold

It was after the swallows’ migration

And after the harvests were won

That pheasant became the prime target

For the sport that is ruled by the gun

It was when pale blue mists veiled this morning

And trailed on the wings of the air

When webs they were glistening like silver

Like long strands of angel hair

It was mostly in blood stains of sunset

That nature and I mourned the slain

In the loss of our beautiful pictures

From autumn’s nine carat gold frame

Gillian Walsh, Helmsley, York

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1 Comment

  1. John Mark Wood

    Reminiscence is a moment…
    Spent in silent reverie
    In respect now for the graveyard
    Where a forest used to be

    from ‘In Silent Reverie’ by Gillian Walsh – enjoyed and respected


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