FOREST FAIR

All dressed in green, quite pristine,

The trees of England stand

As gents and ladies, brightly robed,

The finest in our land.

But one young lady stands alone.

She’s wearing last year’s clothes,

A tawdry brown, her skirts hang down.

In tatters, all forlorn

The larch in March, the sycamore too,

The oak and beech all dressed to kill,

What ails this maid so naked still?

What can the trouble be?

But wait! ’Tis June. A transformation

Upon the maid has come.

Of palest green, her soft-veined leaves

Branch out into a gown.

The fairest tree was ever seen,

The ash has now become a queen.

Mrs D Ridley, Frosterley

NEW HORIZONS

They’ve done it at last

Grandchildren and sons

Dragged me out of the past

By promising ‘fun’.

A laptop they tell me

Is easy to use

Come into this century

Now I am confused.

What great grandchildren take

For granted, is strange to me,

But what changes it makes

As I talk I can see

Family in far distant places

It’s a dream, a small heaven

As I see smiling faces

A big step for me, now aged 87.

O Fish, West Burton, Leyburn

MONEY

Why are so many governed

By the need for ownership

Of everything that’s wordly

As they journey on life’s trip,

And crave for the illusive

That is possible to buy

Upon the streets of freedom

Where despondency is high?

The wizards of life’s retail

Are enticing humankind

To purchase any item

That will satisfy the mind,

And blow away the debris

Lurking in its consciousness

That represents the needy

Who have never known excess.

There are so many worldly

In this world of disbelief

Where money’s the dictator

Causing unrelenting grief,

And thriving on the debtors

Living out a sad affair

With no way of escaping

From the shackles of despair.

The high streets of persuasion

Beckon affluence on earth

To revel in the practice

Of developing its worth,

And sense the buzz in buying

Anything at any cost

By souls who feel bewildered

At the sums of money lost.

Iaian W Wade, Redcar