In Praise of Culvercliffe / by Susan Hutchings

By | February 9, 2021
Hear this page!

What stories you must have to tell

What hidden tales of sorrow and joy

What indiscretions must be buried within

How many altercations have seeped into you

No control over what or whom you have absorbed

A dull day interrupted by an inquisitive sniffing visitor

Nothing changes for you except the view

Sometimes you look out to murky brown

Sometimes to waving of arms and shrieks of joy

Often to a tufted head disappearing only to reappear

Occasionally to a whirring noise and a flash of orange

Followed by a circling hovering mass of yellow above

Spring brings wafts of narcissi fragrance in your direction

Summer heralds vibrant colours from new wildflowers beyond

Turning to look at the slightly faded inscription etched into you

In Memory of Barbara Woods, who loved to sit at this spot

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