In Flanders’ fields, the poppies grow, Where gentle summer breezes blow. Men lie there still, both friend and foe, No more homeward will they go. The broken hearts, the tears that flow, Their family’s love, they’ll never know. They died for us, both friend and foe, We will remember them just so.
Between the gatepost and the gate, there is a narrow gap. And Summer brought me scents of fields and streams where I could lap. And grassy banks of dandelions that I could run among, But Summer seems so long ago, in Summer I was young. Between the gatepost and the gate, the gap remains the same, But fields and streams and dandelions no longer call my name. For Autumn’s come with heavy tread, stiff joints and dimming sight, Now Summer’s scents are lost and gone and Autumn is our blight.
Hold on tight, don't get blown away. Tell the wind, it's OK, you'll stay here with all your kith and kin, Each and every one a twin. Don't float around on balmy breeze, If you do, it makes me sneeze. Am I a grump? I know, it shows. Thistledown, you get right up my nose.
See the New Moon’s darkened skies its inclined crescent hold, Leant forward in the pale sunset, as custom was of old. To pour away the last month's cares and all in life untrue. And cleanse our minds and right our deeds and start the days anew.
But in amongst Spring’s pale green leaves Crab Apple’s blossom show. So give a care for what we lose and what we must let go. As in our mind resentments surge that don’t deserve their weight. Do not confuse what we needs lose with fancies we create.
Hoo doo, Throstle, owz't ga'an? Yous sings gey smart. Ga’an, sing us yan. Carolling cadences so spectacular, Hard to define in the vernacular. Sing out loud when storms are brewing, Cleave the wind with arpeggic hewing. Sing each phrase in full fortissimo, Let others take the pianissimo. Sing a phrase and then repeat. Add some notes till it’s replete. Sing it all again with feeling, First, the refrain and then freewheeling.
Sweet Tête-à-tête, stand tall in this harsh clime. Blossom through the worst that is our springtime. Slim, chaste and demure as only you can be, Did you ever think that you would be set free? In your pot, you sat upon the window cill, Of warmth and water always had your fill, Here, rain, wind and snow are who the piper pays. Do you ever hanker after the good old days?
Hold on a minute, wait a sec,
Is it Tuesday? Tuesday. Check!
We need some eggs and milk and flour,
We’ll have pancakes in half an hour.
A recipe is what we need,
Come on Google, yes indeed.
Find one suitable for me,
Look, there’s one on the BBC.
Mix it pour it in the pan.
Can I flip it? Yes, I can!
Lemon juice and honey spread,
Sugar crunch, maybe, instead.
They were there, right on the plate,
If you’d like a taste, well, you’re too late.
Sitting, through the window gazing,
Festive fare before us spread.
Your joie de vivre is so amazing,
Share with us our daily bread.
Christmas lights show their reflection.
You, the cold, wild winds must bear.
Forcing on me introspection,
For nought would I your wild life share.
Have pity on the Pheasant,
Sitting in the snow.
Life isn’t very pleasant,
When you’ve no place to go.
She’s stuck, with no umbrella,
On cold and bitter moors.
No nice hot coffee seller,
In the Great Outdoors.
Our restaurant has been relocated,
And outdoor seating arranged.
If this is what you’ve awaited,
Please visit and see what we’ve changed.
While we can’t manage kerbside delivery,
We hope this is what you expect.
If the weather turns out to be shivery,
You can always do peck and collect.
Whence comes the road?
It winds through all our travelling.
From our beginning,
Our life unravelling.
Whence goes the road?
Up and on, curving and bending.
From where we stand,
To our life’s ending.
At the going down of the sun, we will remember.
Those who died, both friend and foe.
Who fan the flames of freedoms ember,
With dying valour’s glow.
Those who lie in foreign fields to never more return.
Those who wait, hope overdue.
Those whose fate we’ll never learn.
We do remember you.