When summer ends and dark nights come
Its colours fade and all is done
Leaves fall off trees lie on the ground
Dying there without a sound

I too lie here there’s no more sun
I fade as light no more is shone
To earth’s dark secrets I am bound
When summer ends

But in this dark my soul does run
With thoughts of grace my brain to stun
For growth begins in dark night’s wound
The seed brings Life as Day comes round
Earth’s womb gives birth as Joy is sprung
As summer ends


By the wall where the robin sat the leaves fell
A cushion on the ground made my heart swell
The red of his breast matched the berries I saw
Plump with the life that I knew before

I too had fallen this tale I tell
One that so many know so well
On the ground lies new life, an open door
By the wall where the robin sat

Inside we may feel we have gone to hell
Agonies black in our hearts do dwell
But beckoning us is a golden shore
And the robin sings now of its wondrous store
Knowing that blessings await us galore
By the wall where the robin sat


It was a mystical moment, in the half light of the evening. The tractors in the fields that in the sunlight had glowed golden, harvesting the wheat. It felt almost mesmerising in its beauty, and it took me back to a time way back in the past, when as a child I sat, with my grandparents and all the men from the village who had worked so hard in the scorching sun to get the harvest in. My grandmother had brought plates piled high with sandwiches and huge jugs of tea for the men. It was like a party. The happiest party of the year. Everyone was singing and laughing, and Shot, the dog, in his exuberance, tried to chase a stray rabbit down a rabbit hole to the sounds of

“STOP that, Shot.”

Shot reluctantly but duly obeyed. The men, however, became more and more unruly in their singing.

A few unharvested strands of wheat on the edge of the field caught my attention, and I started to try to stook them. My first ever attempt at stooking corn. It was a beautiful moment. How proud I was of my stook, standing there strong and proud in the field.

Those were golden days. Days that smiled. And I, as a child, drank from them.
(To be continued)


I am going home. I have started the journey home.

I returned to the place of my youth. To connect. To know good things once again. To live in my memories. Beautiful memories. They had died to me. But I made them live again.

It was a hot summer’s day when I returned. Just like those I had known at the farm. It always was a place of refuge. And it always seemed sunny there.

How can I capture all those memories in words? I do not know. Yet I must.

I sat, on the rise, watching horses go by. And in that moment I KNEW – this was where I wanted to be buried. This was where I must be brought – on a horse drawn cart. Back to my home, to rest for ever.

We left, when I was a baby. We left that beautiful place. It feels like an eternity separates me from that time. But now, I want to spend the rest of eternity there. Drawn there by the horses. And on my gravestone the words, “Home at Last.”

Tears pour from my eyes as I contemplate that not too far away time. I have travelled far, and long. But now I am coming home. Home at last.
(To be continued)


I return to the days that were safe
Held in moments
Lasting for eternity
My soul battered now
I seek comfort in those elusive moments
Fir I am trapped in time
Looking for eternity
From a wild windswept moor
I tumble down
Falling into those moments
Letting them hold me
I die in those moments
Caressed by love