Christopher Tye

Gold Star - 17,355 Points (Lincolnshire, England)

Christopher Tye Poems

1. Old Man's Beard -new- 9/23/2016
2. I Am The Best -new- 9/23/2016
3. Anchor -new- 9/23/2016
4. Ships (Revisited) -new- 9/23/2016
5. Century -new- 9/23/2016
6. Old Socks -new- 9/23/2016
7. Defeated -new- 9/23/2016
8. Taste -new- 9/23/2016
9. Flowering -new- 9/23/2016
10. Buses -new- 9/23/2016
11. Sarnie -new- 9/16/2016
12. Satire -new- 9/16/2016
13. Changes -new- 9/16/2016
14. Guard -new- 9/15/2016
15. Timed -new- 9/15/2016
16. Shells -new- 9/15/2016
17. Armada -new- 9/15/2016
18. Utopia -new- 9/15/2016
19. Minster -new- 9/16/2016
20. Fickle -new- 9/16/2016
21. Hamper -new- 9/16/2016
22. Limited -new- 9/19/2016
23. Limits -new- 9/19/2016
24. Lineal -new- 9/19/2016
25. Linear -new- 9/19/2016
26. Flagon -new- 9/19/2016
27. Gauss -new- 9/19/2016
28. Tesla -new- 9/19/2016
29. Mungo -new- 9/19/2016
30. A Lincolnshire Lad - Fanny Hands Lane 8/31/2016
31. A Lincolnshire Lad - A Brief History Of Radar In Lincolnshire 9/5/2016
32. Notes 9/7/2016
33. Water (Revisited) 9/7/2016
34. Tidal 9/7/2016
35. Tides 9/7/2016
36. Waves 9/7/2016
37. Pocket 9/7/2016
38. Direct 9/7/2016
39. Acuity 9/7/2016
40. Acumen 9/9/2016
Best Poem of Christopher Tye

Another Year Passes

Another year passes

The old man is sitting in his armchair,
Looking out of the window,
Watching the birds,
As they are flying from tree to tree,
He remembers all the winters,
He spent in his garden when he was young,
Planting those same trees,
When they were just little saplings,
He remembers all the years that,
Those trees have been growing and slowly maturing,
He knows long after he has celebrated his final birthday,
All the trees in his beloved garden,
Will still be growing,
And still be giving food and shelter to the birds, ...

Read the full of Another Year Passes

The Dying Exile

The dying exile

As the exiled man lays dying in a foreign land,
His thoughts turn to his beloved homeland,
As he draws his final few breaths,
He thinks about the village where he was born,
The little house where he spent his childhood,
The school he went to and all his long-lost friends from there,
The village's little sand stone church, with its steeple reaching out trying to touch heaven,

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