By Stuart McFarlane
SPRING
Nature has shed her wintry robes
to adorn brighter clothes.
A cornucopia of colours – bold
yellow, crimson, purple, gold.
Far away the ample hills repose
where a new light softly grows.
The sky is blue, the wind is fair.
A lone bird flies into the air.
In winter, silent seeds have toiled
to deny the grip of frozen soil.
Soon in the garden, green will
bloom with tulips, roses, and daffodils
And the nourished roots shall bring
forth the joyful fruits of spring.
UNTITLED
I feel a silky silence grow
as if all the world has died.
Night is as black as the crow,
no light to show habitation,
but the far off, orange glow
of firelight on the hillside.
I hear a rippling river flow
through a valley, dark and wide.
The white of an owl swoops low –
wings spread, I watch it glide
and the distant orange glow
of firelight on the hillside.
Stuart McFarlane is now semi-retired. He taught English for many years to asylum seekers in London. He has had poems published in a few online journals.
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