Angela Wybrow Poems

People have gardens, both large and small,
Whilst flat dwellers have no garden at all.
Some people love to surround their homes
With comical-looking, little garden gnomes.
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This is the tale of a young girl named Ella,
Who spied out the window a less fortunate fella.
She saw him there, sat down on a seat,
With no where to go and nothing to eat.
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So delicious on the lips,
But so fattening on the hips.
Sticky, gooey, chocolaty fingers.
On my tongue, the sweet taste lingers.
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Out of the muffin, I took a big bite,
And suddenly my taste-buds danced with delight;
My muffin was a mixture of fruit and spice,
And, I have to say, it was ever so nice!
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I enter the already open door of the cafe,
And a delicious, coffee-flavoured warmth
Envelopes every inch of my very being.
I love the aroma, though hate drinking coffee.
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Taking a rest in the shade of a tree,
Or nestling down on my new owner's knee;
The surprising coldness of frost or of snow;
Warming my wings in the sun's golden glow.
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Groups of herring-girls, in crews of three,
Watched and waited upon the South Quay;
Upon empty swills, some girls would sit -
Fishermen's ganseys, they would busily knit.
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There's a pond at the centre of the village green,
Where ducks, moorhen and coot can be seen.
It's a feature which adds to the character and charm.
When sat by the pond, you feel a real sense of calm.
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On leaving Inchcolm Island, on the rocks,
We spotted a large colony of seals.
The boat drifted in to take a closer look.
The noisy engine, the skipper killed.
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Seeing poppies growing in the wild,
Takes me back to when I was a child.
We’d often go for walks on a Sunday,
And often spot poppies along the way.
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