Christopher Tye Poems

Kits

Kits of all sorts of things from planes to trains,
Imagineering the completed model while looking at a pile of sprue's,
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By the babbling brook

By the babbling brook I rest myself,
Watching damsel-flies hovering above the water,
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Scars from decades of struggles,
Countless old wounds remain,
Atonement perhaps for my sins,
Reminders of old battles won and lost,
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Born out of the heat of volcanoes,
Nature's own glass it is so beautiful and rare,
So hard it can take an edge sharper than flint,
Yet so few of us have heard of it,
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Wasted Days

There are days when I have no fight left in me,
When I haven't got any energy left,
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Glaw Haf

Haf glaw,
Splashing yn y nentydd,
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Sorrow

Sadness and sorrow stalking my life,
Oneiric memories afflicting sleep,
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Fires

Fireplaces with roaring log fires,
Inclement days huddled around the fire,
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Chase

Chasing money is no life to live,
Honest man are rarely rich with money,
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Rain

Rain decending from the heavens,
A gift from God and the clouds for all life on earth,
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