Who is she?

Yesterday as the sun went down
Only one thing was in my crown;
Under the glow of the darkening cloud
In my heart a thought cried aloud:
Summer is going, with all its host,
Surrendering to autumn and winter’s frost
Hope fled away, gone without reason
Early, to feel the loss of the season.
Then, another came into view,
Ready and willing her life to renew,
Under the glow of the pinkening cloud
Even she who is you, of whom be proud.

Another year, so long, How wrapt are we in bonds Which flits from bloom to flower With heavy hum and burr We wear with hidden pride Not knowing what the cost Yet still the world turns on; The golden dawn awakes, The winter frost gives way Preparing earth once more As April’s pitterpat And dew drops in the night So now I think of you Do not forget to do The Lord give strength to you, According to his will

has now passed away; see unlike the happy bee along the border neat pursuing nectar sweet. the mask upon the face of leaving our safe place. it circles in the sky. the silver moon glides by, to spring in earnest hue with whistling songs for you. brings showers on the lawn the flowers well adorn, who once encouraged me: to be what you would be. now make his face to shine on you and your true line.

Perhaps again the bee…

Perhaps the moor’s heather shall stand proud
Enchanting, by its vibrant purple shroud
Rutilant below heaven’s snow white cloud,
Her eyes, as if she had long since vowed
Again to no more vainly cry aloud;
Pleading after the bee’s sweet secret kiss
Sweet aromas softly yielding bliss
Around the tender form of gentle miss
Gath’ring nectar – such gracious benefice –
Accomp’nied by a quiet burr and hiss;
In time shall we perhaps the honey taste?
Not though ’til then, shall we again embrace.

Another time, another year

The bluebells in the woods
have raised their heads to thee
Who in the shadows of the past
the garth of Arundel didst tread.

The daffodils in gold
have spread a mat for thee
Who in the mists of days of old
the Surrey fields didst oft frequent.

The roses red have yet
their beauty to bestow
‘pon thee who in the present day
much happiness shouldst know.